


Sky Blue Daydreams

by spaceOdementia



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempt at Humor, BAMF Tifa Lockhart, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Childhood Trauma, Cloud is a CEO, Cloud is actually soft on the inside, Cloud is an asshole, Desk Sex, Developing Relationship, Drama, Drama & Romance, Emails, Endless Summer 2020, Eventual Smut, F/M, False Accusations, Friends concocting plans together, From Sex to Love, Gift Fic, Girl Power, Girlfriends - Freeform, Gratuitous Smut, Happy Ending, Hate to Love, I don't know how to write about business but I tried, In which Cloud and Tifa foster the worst and best in each other, Listen when I say this is dramatic, Love/Hate, Masturbation in Bathroom, Mutual Pining, Probably the most dramatic thing I've ever written, Sex Dreams, Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Suggestive emails, Tifa is a business woman, absurdity, daddy issues everywhere, dubious business practices, minimal angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:00:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 133,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25324303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceOdementia/pseuds/spaceOdementia
Summary: Ever since the promotion of the new CEO, Tifa has been walking on a tightrope. Unhappy with her work and her lack of creativity, she all but snaps when she's threatened with demotion. Enough is enough. Or, it should be enough, if her CEO wasn't such an ass.
Relationships: Mentions of Zack Fair/Aerith Gainsborough, Tifa Lockhart/Aerith Gainsborough/Jessie/Yuffie Kisaragi Friendship, Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife
Comments: 740
Kudos: 739





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Somebodys_Nightmare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somebodys_Nightmare/gifts).



> First off, I can't say enough about the timing of the Final Fantasy VII Remake, finding a whole community who is so supportive of writing and all creative endeavors, and the ease in which they spread their love to one another. 
> 
> Somebodys_Nightmare, I am so happy I found you. You know that! In the last few weeks, you've made me feel like I can write anything I want, and that I have the potential to do _anything_ I want. Maybe one day, I can write the novel I've always wanted? Or get something published? You've made that maybe feel much more like a certainty. I can never say thank you enough for that feeling. ~~Okay sappiness over thanks~~ Happy birthday!
> 
> And since your birthday lands on Endless Summer 2020 Week, I'll say it's for that, too. ;) Day 3 Prompt: Total Eclipse of the Heart by Bonnie Tyler. It's pretty dramatic, so I think it can count.

What an _asshole._

Tifa rereads the email, trying to calm her wild burst of anger. One more time, she thinks. One more time, and she’ll be fine.

Ms. Lockhart,

Due to the importance and gravity of Shinra Inc. becoming partners with SOLDIER CORP. I cannot stress enough that we, as a company, as a unit, and as a whole, strive for perfection.

You have received this position in the company because you have shown outstanding attributes in your field, a dedicated work ethic, and the passion for greatness that we promote and endeavor to uphold at SOLIDER CORP.

This is why I must tell you that I cannot accept the portfolio you’ve created for this partnership. It lacks the passion and perfection you had once been consistent with sharing. It is substandard, and it does not and will not benefit us in the next step of our partnering process.

This is the second mediocre showing from you. One more failure, and you will be demoted. You are henceforth removed from this project and will now be in charge of our Midgar Specialties account, as I believe its lower standards and lack of creativity match your own.

Regards,

Cloud Strife

Chief Executive Officer

SOLDIER CORP

Tifa stares at it, waiting for her heart to calm down and her blood to cool. She waits and waits. She tries to unfocus her mind.

Her heart doesn’t calm. Her blood doesn’t cool. She can’t unfocus. Her entire body trembles with a built up possession of anger. She bites the inside of her cheek until she can’t stand it. She viciously opens a blank word document, her fingers smashing against the keys in a fit of unadulterated rage.

Mr. Strife,

Due to your lack of respect, complete and utter condescension, demeaning and degrading series of emails, and inability to personally discuss my inadequacies and your dislikes of my artistic avenues for the company, I would like to put in my two weeks notice and resign my position.

My worth may be substandard in your prideful opinion, but I have been employed at this company for five years without one mention of lack of creativity, dispassionate showings, or disharmony between my personal branding style and that of the company as a whole.

Before you became CEO, I was essential to the building brand of SOLDIER CORP. I was leader of the team who skyrocketed the company to its height of monopoly. I was here when there were twenty employees. I have been part of its foundation.

I realize I do not need to explain or describe my resume to you, as you know exactly what I’ve done for this company. It grieves me to say that this is no longer the company that began from nothing. It is a conglomerate monster that will only grow more fiendish with the addition of Shinra Inc. It has and will continue to lose sight of its mission and its goal. It will grow into its greed, and so will you.

I will not grieve leaving my position. Anyone with a modicum of independence, intelligence, and level of self worth would never demean themselves to work for an employer who can only see the art without considering the history of the artist.

Sincerely,

Tifa Lockhart

Senior Executive Marketing Specialist

SOLDIER CORP

Tifa puffs out a breath. Typing out her fake responding email helps some, but it doesn’t help enough. She closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose, leaning her elbows on her office desk. After a minute, she collects herself, then grabs her cell phone and calls the first number on her speed dial.

“Kisaragi and Co, this is Yuffie.”

“Yuffie,” Tifa says into her phone, her voice tight and stern. “Please be free for lunch today. Please.”

“For you, I think I can manage that. What happened? Another shitty day, already?”

“Yeah. Another shitty day.”

“Do we need reinforcements? I can call up Jessie and Aerith, too.”

Tifa thinks for just a moment. “Sure. Yeah. Why not.”

“The more the merrier.” Yuffie scuttles around the other end before she states, “This is because of Mr. Asshole, isn’t it.”

Tifa sighs. “It’s always because of Mr. Asshole.”

Yuffie grunts loudly. “Ugh! What is his deal! Why is he such a fucking piece of shit?”

“I don’t know,” Tifa bemoans. “But thanks, Yuff. See you at Heaven?”

“Fuck yeah, you will.”

Tifa hangs up, staring at her word document. The cursor blinks apathetically back at her, kissing the end of her title. Senior Executive Marketing Specialist. It had taken her so long to get here. So many hours, so much heart and soul, so much effort. She’ll find another job, elsewhere. It shouldn’t be too difficult with her experience. She’ll have to find another reference, but she’s sure Reeve would be happy to do it.

Still. She stares at her name on the blaring white screen. What had it all been for? She imagined this being her career, staying loyal, continuing to climb the ladder, investing in stocks, potentially divesting into other branches of the company.

And then Cloud Strife became CEO. His vision was nothing but shrewd, pragmatic, and devoid of any significant emotion. All business, no indulgence. A hard ass, through and through.

The most devastating thing is how young he is. At twenty-seven, he’s somehow become one of the top tiered executives in the Eastern Continent. If Tifa helped catapult SOLDIER CORP to its height of renown, Cloud Strife sent it up into the galaxy.

He started small, too, like she did. He was nothing but a grunt worker, yet he traversed his way into administrative offices and management. His mind was severely inclined for business. He knew what he had to do to get the company filthy rich, so that’s what he did. No one can get there without stepping on people, making enemies, or being cutthroat. For him, he was the epitome of never mixing business with pleasure. It was only business, personal emotions be damned.

She grabs her mouse and moves it to the top right corner of the document. She clicks it to close, and the prompt pops up on the screen.

Would she like to save it? She pushes the air out of her mouth through pursed lips. No. Why would she? It wasn’t like she was going to send it, anyway. It wasn’t even that cathartic.

When she moves her mouse over the _No,_ something pulls in her stomach. It was a passionate outburst that created it. Why not just keep it to look back on when she’s far away from this office in another job that she’s in love with? It could be like a piece of her journal. In a few years, she’ll look back at it and laugh and wonder why it made her so mad in the first place.

She flicks her mouse over the _Yes_ and clicks. She saves it in her documents, then she busies herself with more tedious pursuits until lunch.

* * *

“He did not!”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“He sent that to you?”

“Who the hell uses the word _henceforth?”_

If there’s one thing Tifa can count on, it’s her girlfriends’ undying support. She always feels better after venting with them, and they hold her up like a trophy on a pedestal. She doesn’t deserve them, but she’s so happy she has them.

Yuffie, for her part, curses up a storm. “Fucking Leviathan. Substandard? How far is his head up his ass?”

“Far enough he’s probably inhaling his own shit,” says Aerith. She’s usually sweet and compassionate for everyone. But get on her bad side, and she’ll rip you a new one. Tifa grins at her statement, resting her head against Aerith’s shoulder. Aerith curls an arm around her waist. “You’re too good for that shitbag.”

“He’s definitely a hard ass. And a shitbag. And he’s definitely someone you don’t deserve to work for...but goddamn it, why does he have to be so hot?” That’s Jessie. She is always the voice of flirtation and occasionally reason. Sometimes, she’s the voice of deviousness, and if you put them all in a room for any length of time, plans, plots, and schemes are usually created—and Tifa ends up going along with them.

Jessie holds up her phone. She had Moogled him, and an image of Cloud Strife graces her phone’s screen.

Tifa hates admitting it, because it isn’t relevant to this situation, but he _is_ handsome. Having a pretty face only helps with his business sales. It doesn’t help with anything else. He has as much charm as a plastic bag.

Yuffie and Aerith groan in tandem.

“Why is it always the good-looking ones?” Aerith huffs.

“Okay, I didn’t realize he had baby blue eyes,” Yuffie mulls before narrowing her eyes. “Hm. No. He looks like he’s twelve, and that’s unsettling.”

Tifa snorts. “He doesn’t look twelve.”

“No, he doesn’t look twelve. But if he fucks like he runs a business, he’d fuck hard and efficiently and...ugh,” Jessie says, her tone dipping into the dreamy, fantasizing tone it makes when males are mentioned.

Tifa internally disagrees. He’d have mechanical sex. It would only benefit him, because he doesn’t care about anyone else’s needs but his own.

Aerith grabs at her phone, taking it and scrutinizing.

“What’s up with his hair, though? Does he use gel to make it stick up like that?”

“No one knows,” Tifa says, trying to avoid looking at the picture. She doesn’t like him. She hates him. He’s made her feel so inadequate even though she knows she isn’t. She’s capable and independent and strong. “There’s a rumor he was electrocuted, and it turned him into a business guru genius.”

Yuffie snorts and so does Aerith. Jessie places her chin in her hand and smiles.

“That’s a very silly rumor,” Aerith says.

“Maybe he was experimented on in a test tube,” Yuffie states, taking a large swig of her tea. 

“Oh, I’m sure he’d electrocute you in bed,” Jessie drawls, smiling lasciviously, and plucking her phone back from Aerith. Tifa smacks her in the arm, but she laughs.

“I highly doubt he’d electrocute,” Tifa says. “He’d probably kill you from sheer boredom.”

Jessie snickers. “Oh, that would be such a tragedy. I mean, look! Look what he looks like in a business suit!” 

She waves her phone around with another picture. Instead of just his face, it holds a full frontal of him with a tie, suit jacket, and crisply pressed slacks. Tifa grimaces. Aerith sighs. Yuffie pretends to retch.

“Hot or not, he’s the worst boss in the history of the world,” Yuffie says. 

“The only other person I know to look that good in a suit is Zack,” Aerith mumbles. “And Zack’s phenomenal. But you’re right, Yuffie. No one makes Tifa feel this way and gets away with it. I hope he feels all this bad energy blasted at him over the next few days.”

Tifa smiles against her. 

Jessie groans. “Yeah. You’re all right. It’s just so sad to me.” She pauses. “Hey, but instead of calling him hard ass, can he call him _tight_ ass? I mean, good grief, he has to go to the gym.”

Tifa exclaims. “Jessie!”

“Honestly, he’s probably married to gym equipment,” Yuffie criticizes, rolling her eyes. 

“That or his suit,” Aerith lightly contributes. She nudges Tifa. “So, what do you think, Teef? Are you going to resign? Or are you going to see if he hits you with a last third strike?”

Tifa sighs. “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about both options. I…I actually wrote a fake resignation letter after I received his email.”

All three girls stare at her. Jessie leans forward. “Tifa, I think I speak for all of us when we say we don’t want you to regret anything, but…”

“We all know how much your job means to you,” Yuffie continues. “Resigning after everything you’ve done would be…difficult.”

“I hate to suggest this, but have you talked to him one-on-one at all?” Aerith asks. “Email is great for efficient communication, but it gives no room for full freedom of speech, nor is it easy to establish your point. As close-minded as this Strife seems to be, I don’t think any email would really open his eyes. Not like it would if you talked to him in person.”

Tifa swallows another sigh. Of course, she knows this, and of course, she hasn’t. She’s been increasingly intimidated by the thought of it. One wrong word, one wrong glance, and he’d fire her on the spot. 

At least with the email communication, it gave her a chance to recover and try harder. But even then, her increased efforts still _lacked._ He still hated everything she sent him. Setting up an appointment and going to his office? He’ll look at her, tell her she is as mediocre as her portfolios, and dismiss her without any other argument. 

She tells the girls as much. She anticipates their intense and lengthy rebuttal, and they don’t disappoint. It’s endearing, but it only fills Tifa with half the force she knows they want their words to feel. It’s because they don’t know Cloud Strife like she does. They haven’t heard all of the stories about him. They haven’t read the articles in the Midgar 30 under 30. They don’t quite understand the ingrained fear that lurks under her skin—even though it’s unnecessary and absurd for her to be so afraid of one man, because, just like when looking at her word document earlier that morning, what does it _really_ matter? She’ll find another job. She’ll find a better one. She’ll retain her title, and she’ll be so much happier. 

“You know what, Aerith?” Tifa says once they fall into a brief lapse of silence. “You’re right. I’ll schedule an appointment, talk to him, and then formally hand in my two weeks notice.”

They all give her sympathetic looks. “Are you sure?” Aerith asks. “It’s what you want?”

Tifa shrugs. “Honestly? I don’t know. I’ll figure it out sooner rather than later, though.”

Yuffie taps the counter with her blunt nails. Then, suddenly, she straightens. 

“Wait. Hold up. I have an idea.”

Tifa knows that look. It’s a plotting look, her face taut with the threads of an idea. Jessie tips her head, and Aerith’s eyes take on a gleam. 

“Yes? What have you got in mind?” Aerith asks, leaning forward on her elbows.

Yuffie’s mouth breaks into a deep smirk. “Now, don’t shoot this down too quick, Teef, okay?”

Tifa is already preparing herself. She narrows her eyes. 

“Okay…”

Jessie grins. “Oh, I can’t wait.”

“So…” Yuffie says. “Make that appointment with him. Then wear your sexiest office outfit. Like that one with the short striped pencil skirt with the stockings? The stockings that are basically thigh highs so when you cross your legs the skirt rides up and shows them off?”

Tifa already knows there is no way in hell she’s doing this. 

“Yes, I know what you’re talking about…” she answers.

“And wear that silk cami, that dark navy one? It shows so much cleavage. And your matching, pinstriped blazer on top of it. And wear eyeshadow and mascara.”

Aerith’s smile grows wider by the minute. Jessie is nearly cackling. 

“Oh, and wear those moon earrings I gave you!” Aerith inputs, her hands folding into excited fists. “And the necklace that falls into your cleavage!”

“And red lipstick—that deep, garnet red,” Jessie says, grinning toothily. “It matches your eyes. He won’t be able to look away.”

Tifa frozenly smiles at all of them. “You are all insane,” she says with a lilted tone. 

“Hey, if it’s your last day, might as well go out smokin’ hot,” Yuffie says, waving her arms. 

“Make him wish he had called you to his office much earlier to talk with you,” Aerith says, her eyes glimmering. 

“And then tell him since you’re quitting, you two can have really steamy, office hate-sex,” Jessie states matter-of-factly. “Because he’s so _boring,_ you’re really just helping out his future reputation. I mean, what twenty-seven year old CEO wants to be known as a total disappointment in bed?”

Tifa begins laughing.She begins laughing so hard, her shoulders shake. When she looks around at them and none of them join her, her laugher dwindles. 

“You guys are…you guys…you’re _serious?”_

They all glance around at each other, the diabolical hive mind setting in. 

“Fucking yeah, I’m serious,” Yuffie states, pointing at her. “Tifa, you’re hot as lava. What better revenge on the dickwad than giving him the biggest, most regrettable blue balls of his _life?_ ”

Aerith’s smile is bordering wicked intent. “Oh, he will be lusting after you like a wild dog. He’ll be utterly crippled.”

“Imagine the possibilities. The drama. The intense sexual tension. Can you imagine a stone-faced suit like him losing his fucking mind?” Jessie crows, biting her lip and smirking. There is a devil on her shoulder. Tifa can almost see it hovering over her. 

Tifa looks at each of them in turn as they talk. She starts shaking her head. They all nod in contrast, raising their eyebrows at her pointedly. 

“There is no way I’m doing this,” Tifa states, tone dead. “No way. Absolutely no way.”

“Oh, it’s happening, sweet Tifa,” Aerith says, continuing to smile. “You’re going to have a meeting, and you’re going to sparkle and shine.”

“He’ll have drool spilling out of his _mouth,_ ” Yuffie exclaims.

“And you’re going to have the best sex of your life,” Jessie concludes, high-fiving Aerith beside her. 

“Right, because he’s actually going to agree to meet with me before firing me. Sure,” Tifa says, closing her eyes and shaking her head. “And when he fires me after I request an audience, I’ll tell you all I told you so.”

“Yeah.”

“Uh-huh.”

“We’ll be eagerly waiting.”

When Tifa gets back to her office after lunch, she opens up her word document. Then she opens up her email. She splits the screen between the two of them. 

One will be a request. Another will be a demand. She gnaws on her lip and her fingers hover above her keyboard. The request will keep her fate out of her control. The demand will retain it. This is a decision that will denote her character—and she can’t regret this in the future. She can’t look back on herself for her cowardice in the face of a young, nearly _boyish_ CEO. She would hate herself forever if she allowed it. 

She swallows and sighs. She hopes the girls forgive her. 

She copies her written resignation email from the word document. She pastes it into the body of her work email beside it. She fills in the _To:_ line with Cloud Strife’s email, and the _Subject:_ line with _Resignation._

Before she can think any further on it, she clicks _Send._

She puffs out a breath, her heart racing marathons. _There._ She did it. It’s over. It’s done. She’ll be free of this place. She can start researching job opportunities. She can think of different pathways for her creativity. She can be leader of another group of creative individuals. She can—

Her email chimes with a message. He’s responded— _already?_ Her heart beats so quickly, it feels like a hummingbird trapped in her chest. 

Her palm immediately begins to sweat. It slips on the mouse, but she moves the cursor and hovers over his reply. She waits for three more seconds before she opens it. 

Ms. Lockhart,

Before I entertain your concerns and your askance for resignation, please allow for a scheduled meeting between us. 

Arrive at my office tomorrow morning at 9 am. We will discuss your future with this company and the potential of your future without it, if that is your wish.

Cloud Strife

Chief Executive Officer

SOLDIER CORP

Tifa blinks at it. She reads it consecutively five times before she reads it five times more. Blood heats up her cheeks, and her ears feel like they’re two steaming teapots. 

Three sentences. Three tiny little sentences. 

It feels like a mere brush off. He can’t even respect her _quitting_ without having the last word. After all this time, _now_ he wants to speak with her? _Now?_

Tifa sits in her office chair, and her mind swirls. Bricks and bricks of layered anger fill her up, and her rage feels like a sentinel, protecting her from anxiety and nerves and hell, even Cloud Strife. For the first time since he ascended to the throne, she no longer cares about his power.

She stares at his signature. Her friends’ words sizzle into her brain like poison bait. 

_What better revenge on the dickwad than giving him the biggest, most regrettable blue balls of his_ life?

_He will be lusting after you like a wild dog._

_What twenty-seven year old CEO wants to be known as a total disappointment in bed?_

A slow smile, as devious as all of her girlfriends’ combined, snakes its way onto her face. The plan settles against her mind like the borders of a puzzle, complete and succinct and perfect.

She knows exactly what she’s going to do. She’ll show him. 

She’ll make him wish he never sent those emails in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: also this is just a heads up for next chapter for any new readers.  
> Next chapter will involve the threat of false accusations. This is in no way a glorification NOR is it condoning that this is right in the workplace. Everything in this story is for fun and for dramatic license and to keep the tension going. Trust me when I say that triggering anyone is NEVER my intention.  
> So with that being said, I hope you readers enjoy the next chapters!


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for everyone's interest and support! I hope everyone enjoys this next chapter!

The next morning, Tifa stares at herself in the bathroom mirror.

She went to bed _telling_ herself she wouldn’t chicken out. She told herself to hold onto the feeling of utter animosity she had when she received Cloud Strife’s last email. She wouldn’t allow herself to sleep it off—she _couldn’t,_ even though that’s always been her inclination. She’s slept off too many of his emails, went to work the next day rejuvenated and rebuilt and hopeful she’d do better only to be eventually broken down again.

No. Not this time. She won’t allow it. She takes a deep breath and exhales it, glancing at her outfit hanging on the door and the banquet of cosmetics laying atop her counter. She put everything out before going to bed so she could be assaulted by her previous resolve. She even took out her phone to reread his email.

She hasn’t told the girls that her meeting was happening so quickly. She’d…see how it went, first. Then she’d report back—either in tears or triumph. She doesn’t look too closely at the likelihood of the tears outweighing the triumph.

Instead, she examines the different palettes of eyeshadow. She’s given herself ample time to ready her look. She reaches forward and begins the process.

By the time she slips on her heels and walks out her apartment door, she’s earlier than she anticipated. She’ll get to her office by 8:15. Then what’ll she do? Pace? Fidget? Bite off her lipstick? She takes the tube and places it in her purse, just in case she needs a touch-up before the meeting.

When she sets her bag down in her office, she tries to settle in. She boots up her computer, and she glances at the pictures standing up along the border of her desk. She has a picture of her graduation from university, her, Jessie, Yuffie, and Aerith posing with wide, terribly happy smiles. She has a picture of her and her dad—one at Christmas, and one on her twenty-fifth birthday after she had been promoted to Senior Executive.

She glances over her extraneous items that sit around her desktop monitor and keyboard. Her sticky note pad, her metal pen holder, her chocobo paperweight, and the vase at the end that holds a single stargazer lily from earlier in the week when Aerith brought her a surprise lunch.

 _It’s beginning to wilt,_ she thinks, noticing the slight droop in the petals. _Just like my position._

She imagines how long it might take her to pack up all her belongings in plastic tubs. Probably less than an hour. She nearly laughs. Less than an hour to pack up her entire five years.

At 8:55 am, she gives herself one more glance over, swipes her lips with another unnecessary layer of color, straightens her skirt, and heads out the door. She walks down the hallway to the elevator and hits the button for the top floor. The buzz of her nerves are the only thing to keep her company during the long trip up.

His office is the only thing that encompasses the top floor. The elevator doors slide open to present a stark white hallway that is ten feet of dread, unfolding into a space with a handful of black and white painted wooden chairs. The secretary’s desk is sleek and sharp, matching the black and white aesthetic with an extra shine from the glassy bordering of quartz along the edges.

The woman looks up at Tifa’s approach. She’s wearing a tight, red dress, her blonde hair pinned up in a severe bun, a lock of bangs falling across one side of her face. Her eyes are shrewd as they look Tifa up and down, and Tifa thinks she’s gorgeous and intimidating. _Of course she is,_ she thinks. Only the most beautiful, competent employees for Cloud Strife.

“Tifa Lockhart to see Mr. Strife? I have a 9 am appointment.”

The secretary nods once, and Tifa notices her nameplate. Scarlet Dagger. Tifa blinks. She certainly matches it.

“Of course, Ms. Lockhart. I’ll let Mr. Strife know you’re here. If you’ll have a seat, he’ll be with you momentarily.”

Tifa turns to take a seat in a stiff chair, glancing around. The walls are decorated with portraits of Midgar, when it was first being built, when it was half finished, and the full, completed look. Different pieces of machinery are used as decor between the portraits, with large gears utilized in the tramway, and pieces of metal sheeting that are used for the plates in different sectors.

It is a room full of white, black, gray, and glassy green. Tifa shifts around in her seat, finding herself increasingly uncomfortable.

At 9 am on the dot, Scarlet says something into the receiver of her phone. She indicates to Tifa.

“Mr. Strife will see you, now.”

Tifa stands, readjusts her skirt out of habit, and heads to the wide, ominous office doors. His name is enameled into the glass. The double doors are as wide as a cave entrance, and it does nothing to alleviate Tifa’s anxiety.

 _The literal belly of the beast,_ she thinks. _I wish I brought my fighting gloves._

Tifa heaves one door open and slips into the office.

On first impression, it surprises her. It is not as stark or sterile as the waiting area outside. The walls are the same bleached white, but the tiled floor is a deep grey, marbled with streaks of cream and flecks of black. His desk is large and oversized, but it is dark brown and wooden. The lines remain modern, with the top of it a thick slab and the sides straight like curtains, kissing the floor without any open space underneath.

There is one accent wall that is an indulgent forest green, and the wall behind him is made of pure glass, overlooking the plates of Midgar below and the expanse of Gaia outside the border of the city.

The room is earthy, nearly warm with the colors, facing the northeast with the sun just grazing the edge of the window. The morning sunlight filters in and brightens the space with a soft glow, and Tifa pauses for a moment to admire it.

It doesn’t help with the cold sweat Tifa’s dealing with, but at least it won’t feel like a doctor’s visit as she gets ripped to pieces.

“Miss Lockhart,” Cloud Strife says, gesturing in front of him. “Please, take a seat.”

He looks exactly like the picture on Jessie’s phone. He’s wearing a charcoal grey suit, his jacket fitted in an annoyingly well-tailored hug along his arms. A white dress shirt is tucked underneath, and a neat, red tie cuts a line down his torso.

Him sitting in an overpowering, leather office chair with the backdrop of Midgar and the terrain of Gaia behind him, eclipsed by the morning sun, makes him seem almost godly. Tifa grits her teeth and walks forward, tensing up her stomach in preparation.

She takes one of the two plushly upholstered seats in front of him. She immediately sinks into it and she readjusts, perching on the edge. Her skirt rises just as Yuffie said it would, and Tifa curls her hands to keep from tugging it back down.

It doesn’t seem to matter. Cloud Strife’s stare is expressionless. It almost seems bored and apathetic, as if this meeting is just another monotonous requirement he has to resolve.

“I believe there is the matter of your resignation to discuss,” he says.

She’s not sure what she expected his tone to be or what his voice to sound like. It’s raspier than she imagined, and it’s not as deep. It hits her again that he is only one year older than her.

“Yes,” she says. She crosses one leg over the other, clasping her hands together and resting them on her knee. “My resignation.”

“Have you received another offer from a different company?”

Tifa frowns. “No. I have not yet applied for other positions.”

“Then why resign from SOLDIER? As you stated in your email, you were here at it’s conception. SOLDIER was a mere start up company when you began your work. What do we now lack that you require to stay?”

Tifa’s eyebrow twitches. Did he not understand her email? Was she not clear enough? She thought it was straightforward. As straightforward as bashing his head with a cooking pan.

_Remember, he doesn’t frighten you anymore_ , she tells herself. _Your time here is over._

Tifa swallows and takes a breath. “It is not what the company lacks. It is what it has...attained.” She stares at him, and he stares back. “I believe your managerial style and my work style clash too significantly for me to be effective. And, as you had written in your last email, you are of the opinion that my designs have lately been substandard.”

The silence that follows is tense and thick. It isn’t even broken by the air conditioning unit. Tifa wants desperately to look away from him, but she steels herself.

Eventually, he grabs one of his three pens from the holder on his desk and he positions it over a notepad.

“As I also stated in my email,” he says. “You have another chance before demotion. Why resign without utilizing that chance?”

_How does he not get it?_ her mind screams.

“I’m afraid you aren’t understanding,” she says, trying to keep her voice even. “I want to resign because I can no longer work under you. You have subjected me to demeaning emails without once talking to me personally about your concerns. You have not given me input, only criticisms over why you find my designs wanting.” She finally breaks the stare, glancing at the corner of his desk. “I am not beneficial to this company if I cannot showcase my talents or see eye to eye with you, Mr. Strife. Another chance is not going to change anything. The risk of demotion does not increase or improve my creativity. In fact, it’s done the opposite.” She pauses, tightening her hands. “So, if you would please respect my decision, I would like to formally announce my resignation.”

He taps his pen against the notepad, staring at her. His eyes are too blue, she thinks. They are like bleeding, blue ink stains on your favorite white shirt, ruining it forever.

“Miss Lockhart, I am not sure you realize what a significant asset you are to this company. Your intimate knowledge of SOLDIER is unattainable elsewhere. Your colleagues are not adequate to fill your position if you resign. So tell me,” he says, leaning forward on his desk. “What do you require to stay? Increased salary? Benefits or perks?”

Tifa stares at him, her eyes feeling like they’re bugging out of their sockets. Her mouth opens slightly.

“I’m sorry,” she hears herself say. “Yesterday, you threatened demotion. Now, you’re offering a raise?”

At her response, she continues to be ensconced in bafflement because Cloud Strife’s perpetually expressionless demeanor flickers. It is a brief thing, so tiny it might not even be real.

The corner of his mouth twitches into a smirk. It’s hardly there, but it’s present.

“Will that be enough to inspire you, instead?” he asks.

She feels her fingernails digging into her palm. Her teeth cut into her lip.

“What will inspire me is having any other boss who isn’t you.”

His smirk doesn’t leave. Her eyes hook on it, and it is smug and condescending and superior. Does he think she can’t refuse him? Does he think this is a _joke?_

“C’mon, Miss Lockhart. You won’t ever be paid any more than you will be here. You won’t have the renown. If I let you resign, you’ll be known as the woman who didn’t have the grit or passion to keep up with the demands of the fastest growing company in the Eastern Continent.” He pushes the point of his pen into the paper of the notepad. “Who would want you after that?”

A blur of red lines her vision. The sudden burst of it is so potent, it makes her lose her breath.

“Are you kidding me?” she whispers in a harsh murmur. She doesn’t care anymore. She truly doesn’t care anymore. It’s all burned up by his smirk and his overly arrogant authority and—and—

“No, Miss Lockhart, I’m not kidding.”

“Okay, Mr. Strife,” she says quietly. “If you want me to stay so badly, you’re going to have to do better than that.”

He raises a brow. Another flicker of expression. A smirk and an eyebrow.

“For one, you’re going to have to open your mind to my creative values and vision for this company. More communication between departments. More company meetings. And you’re going to have to collaborate with me.”

He waits a beat, as if pondering the irrational needs of a child. “Fine.”

“You’re going to have to let me have free rein with the budget.”

His eyes narrow slightly before smoothing over. “I will only allow reasonable requests.”

“And I need a raise,” she says, glaring. “Twenty percent.”

At that, the smirk flies off his face. “That’s impossible. It would be five percent at most.”

“Fifteen.”

They stare at one another, her maintaining a glare, and Cloud once again expressionless. Tifa feels the fire that coalesces in her abdomen run up her throat. She’s close. She sees what she wants, but there’s no way she’ll get it, not with him in the throne.

“Ten.”

She almost cracks. She can’t believe he’s even entertaining it. 

“Twelve and a half, and that’s final.”

He gives nothing away except for the white knuckling of his fingers wrapped around his pen.

“Twelve and a half,” he says, and she doesn’t think she imagines how hard it is for him to utter the number. “Done.”

Tifa’s entire being straightens. She waits for the rug to be pulled out from underneath her, the _just kidding, did you think it would be that easy?_ But he’s as perfectly statuesque as his picture in the magazines. 

It feels too good to be true. Not with how he runs business. Tifa doesn’t allow herself to fall for it so easily. Not Cloud Strife. Not SOLDIER.

“I need a written agreement,” she says, and she tries to keep her voice from raising in hysteria. “By the end of the work day, today, or I’ll resign.”

He continues watching her, and how does he do that, making her feel like a bug in a jar?

“Is my word not enough?”

There it is. The tell. He isn’t going to honor it. Of course he isn’t.

_Asshole._

Her plan sprints through her mind. She knows what she must do, and the roots of adrenaline imbed themselves inside of her.

Tifa stands, and she doesn’t straighten her skirt. The lacy edge of her stockings rim the bottom of it, and her cheeks are flaring, and she must look like she’s crazed because she _feels_ crazed, and when she opens her mouth, she won’t believe what she does until later.

“No, it’s not enough.”

She runs her fingers through her hair, mussing it up into curls of tangles. She pulls off her blazer and scrunches it up against her side, wringing it into a twist of wrinkles.

“But I’ll tell you what _is_ enough,” she continues, looking up to see Cloud still watching her with a careful blankness. Always blank and expressionless. It feeds her ire, and it is just what she needs. “A written contract.” She steps up to his desk and places her palms on it, splaying her fingers. Her blazer is like a wad of paper under her hands, and she leans forward, hovering over him.

“Because if you don’t, I will not only resign. I will notify HR about our friendly meeting and how our prestigious, young, up-and-coming CEO attempted to coerce me into keeping my job only if I performed sexual favors in return.”

Cloud Strife blinks, and his lips begin to thin.

“His immaculate record will be blotted with a damning complaint from a subordinate, and we all know what happens when an executive is accused—even falsely accused. Your character will be forever questioned. Did he? Didn’t he? There aren’t any cameras in your office, and it will be my word against yours.”

Cloud finally stands, also leaning across his desk. His eyes drill into her own, and she finally sees the simmering. The deep, deep heating geyser beginning to roil underneath the surface.

“You wouldn’t dare defy me.”

Her hair nearly spikes up as much as his from the words. Her skin crawls.

“I _would_ dare,” she hisses. “Because why would I, a loyal SOLDIER employee, who’s spent her entire career building good standing with her managers and colleagues, come out to admit that the new CEO, one of the most powerful men in the world, tried to assault her? It certainly wouldn’t be for money with the new raise she’s getting. It wouldn’t be because he was _coercing_ her into staying an employee at the company.”

“You wouldn’t be able to get away with it,” he says. His voice is dangerously low. It slips down her skin like beads of sweat.

“I would,” she says. The rush of it fills her like a waterfall. She leans forward further. “Because who would believe a powerful, arrogant male who thinks he can get whatever he _wants_ over a subordinate female with everything to _lose?_ ”

They stare at one another. Cloud’s jaw slowly begins buckling. A fluttering pink blush of anger expands across the ridge of his nose.

The triumph of the moment floods her like a hit of morphine. The euphoria is a head rush. She stands up straight and runs her thumb across the bottom of her lip, dragging it towards the line of her jaw. She reaches forward with her stained hand and swipes the pad of it across his upper lip. Cloud Strife doesn’t move, the blush across his nose darkening to match the burgundy of her lipstick that now paints his mouth.

She settles away from him, slipping her arms back into her blazer that is ruffled and in need of an iron press. Her hair is out of place. Her skirt is indecently high on her thighs.

And her face is flushed in fury, triumph, and to the outsider looking in, shameful embarrassment.

“I’ll need that contract by 5 pm, today. No later. One minute after and I’ll call Cissnei in HR and tell her every single detail of our _meeting_ , Mr. Strife.”

His eyes shine at her with what she thinks might be a sheen of hatred, just like hers, reflected back in his inky blue eyes. She answers it with the biggest smile she can muster, and she sees one of his hands tighten into a fist.

With that, she turns on her heel and walks out of his office. She makes eye contact with Scarlet as she treks by, and she sees her eye catch onto her smudged lip and her wrinkled clothes. Tifa doesn’t have to try to express the shock that fills her face as she turns her head away, hoping that her appearance and her expression is enough to begin rumors. 

When the elevator doors close on her, she sees her reflection in the pristine metal plating of the door. Her hair is fluffed as if she had been blasted by a whirlwind. Her clothes are askew at every angle. She sees the smudged line of lipstick trailing down to the corner of her mouth. Her hands are shaking, she realizes belatedly, and she goes to tug down the bottom of her skirt. She takes one deep breath, then another.

She did it. She went through with it. She folds over at her hip and runs her hands over her face.

What in Gaia did she just do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: So, I wanted to talk about something here at the end, as I have received a few comments on FFN about it and would like to address it.
> 
> While what happens at the end of this chapter is a bit controversial, especially in this day and age, I just wanted to address that I by no means meant to shed a bad light on Tifa's character in this, it was purely for the drama, to blast the tension, and to create more complexity. Hear me out when I say that Tifa is such an awesome character, and I love her to pieces. I did not want her to come off as OOC, and I wanted to make her reaction a blaze of passion and impulse that was deeply regrettable right after the fact. So I hope most of you continue with this story! I know this bout of workplace inequality/false accusation may turn some people off. Hopefully that is not the case, but I completely understand if it does!


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your comments! I love everyone's thoughts and feelings about this.
> 
> I want to say that since this is an AU, I'm attempting to keep all the characters as IN-character as possible. I know Tifa and Cloud may seem a bit OOC right now, especially with how bananas the entire situation/conflict this story was first based upon, and for that I deeply apologize. But I'm hoping this all unfolds in a genuine, justifiable way to get them to where they are ultimately supposed to be. 
> 
> Shout out to **kotaface** for being my soundboard, my beta for this chapter, and to make sure I didn't fuck this up. You're amazing, and I love you forever. Thank you!
> 
> With that being said, I hope whoever continues and/or tries this story enjoys where it goes!

The rest of the day drags.

It might be one of the longest days of Tifa’s life. She’s too anxious to concentrate on any projects. She’s not even sure if she should be working—she’s ninety-nine percent sure Cloud will crush her like a pill, avoiding any potential damage from the threat she made—and at the time she said it, full of adrenaline and passion and a crazy, limitless impulse, she thought she might actually follow through with it—but she would never do something like that. Never. She would never falsely accuse someone of something they didn’t do—even if they’d sent her several emotionally severing emails. Even if they tore her to pieces.

And yet…she can’t understand.

Why had he indulged her? Was he playing with her? Had he been manipulating her to his whims, just as the tabloids said he did to everyone?

She groans and shakes her head. It doesn’t matter. She’ll wait until 5 pm, tell Cissnei she’s quitting, then empty her desk.

She spends the rest of the day bookmarking different jobs that sound interesting and researching different companies within the outstanding Midgar area. Some jobs are listed in Edge, and Tifa thinks that might be a nice change. Living in Midgar’s sister city—its smaller subset and population, a slower pace, a more relaxed atmosphere. It would be good for her, she thinks. It would also give her increased opportunity to visit her father, who still lived in the Western Continent. Maybe she’d be able to persuade him to finally move closer to her.

In her weaker moments throughout the day, she imagines the twelve and a half percent raise. She thinks about an increased resource budget and the myriad opportunities for collaboration with different departments. She imagines everything she wants, and she sighs, her mind bathing in the sweetness of the daydream.

As the clock edges to 4 pm, Tifa is finally able to accept her inane behavior in the CEO’s office. At 4:30, she wallows in the consequences of her actions, knowing that while she might have screwed herself over for any chance staying in the company—and why does she still want to stay?—it was also the gutsiest, riskiest, and stupidest thing she’s ever done in her life.

At 4:45, she allows herself to remember Cloud Strife’s face. She remembers the muscle bunching in his jaw. She noticed the whiteness of his knuckles, the gleaming coals shining behind his eyes, the _emotion_ he showed in his office—a thing of such mythical proportions, Tifa wishes there was an opportunity to take a picture of it. Cloud Strife, the automaton, losing his cool for probably the first moment in his life.

At 4:59, she’s readying herself to call Cissnei when her computer pings with a notification.

The sender is Cloud Strife. Tifa’s heart immediately jumps like a rabbit. The subject line is bolded with its newness, titled _CONTRACT._

Her eyes widen. She fumbles for the mouse and clicks it as fast as she can.

Ms. Lockhart,

Attached, you will find a renewed contract for your position. Read over it, if you’d like. I’m sure you will, as your impression of my character was quite thorough and clear to me this morning.

The details and updated clauses for your job position will be in effect as soon as you send me a signed attachment. When you do, I will forward it to HR, who I believe will not be required to file any grievances against me. According to my timestamp on this email, it will reach you at 4:59 pm, thus within the timeframe you verbalized during our meeting.

Regards,

Cloud Strife

Chief Executive Officer

SOLDIER CORP

Tifa’s mouth twitches, and she downloads the attachment. It opens up into a PDF, and she combs over it arduously. Nearly an hour later, her jaw feels like it’s full of loose screws. It’s an inch away from touching her desk.

She isn’t able to find any loopholes or oddly worded clauses. She doesn’t find extraneous words or sentences that make her go cross-eyed in confusion. It is all succinct, direct, and ultimately…ultimately…

Everything she wants.

She reads over it two more times before she believes it might be real. She picks up her cell phone and texts Aerith.

_Aerith, I’m going to forward you an email with a newly drawn up business contract. Do you think Zack could look over it for me? I’ve read over it, but I need a sharper eye to make sure I don't miss anything._

A minute after she sends it, Aerith replies.

_OMG. Is it from Asshole? Please say it’s from Asshole._

Tifa feels her lips curling up into a smile.

_Yes._

_Amazing. Zack will read it thoroughly, I’ll be sure of it._

_Great! Thank you. Sending now._

Another minute passes.

_I cannot wait to hear what happened._ The end of her message is punctuated with five exclamation points.

_Lunch, tomorrow?_

_I’M THERE._

* * *

Tifa regales her tale to the girls the next day. They almost react like how she envisions.

Yuffie spits out half her tea. Aerith gasps loudly. Jessie pounds the table with her fists.

“Tifa! Oh, my sweet Leviathan, you are insane! I love you! That went over better than our original plan! ” Yuffie exclaims.

“Well, almost,” Jessie says, smirking. “She didn’t get to have the best hate-sex of her life, but…I guess sticking it to the man and threatening the HR hound dogs on him is about the same level of orgasmic high.”

Tifa laughs at her, shaking her head. “No, it really wasn’t. I actually…I feel really bad about it. I’m not sure what it was about sitting in front of him that made me so…crazy.”

Yuffie shakes her head. “No. Don’t even put yourself through the guilt trip I know you will.”

“Yeah, Teef, it’s over and done with, and I’ll bet that Strife likes his women with spine,” Jessie grins.

“And guess what,” Aerith says, pulling out a printed copy of Tifa’s contract. “Zack told me everything was kosher over the business and job aspects. He only advises you to read over this tiny little section here.” She flips over to the fifth page. One sentence is highlighted, and Aerith points to it. “He told me he didn’t understand the point of it, but after what you told us, it makes so much more sense.” Aerith says, raising her eyebrows. “Apparently, it means forbidding either of you to tarnish each other’s reputation with HR grievances…but basically in Old Ancients terminology. It’s like he _wanted_ you to miss it.”

Tifa spins the page over to herself. She glances over the highlight.

_Furthermore, for complete servitude and preponderance of loyalty among factions of executives and their employees, no grievances shall be issued against either party without full disclosure between both the accuser and the complainant. Breach of the aforementioned will terminate the contract._

Tifa blinks. How had she missed these sentences? She read over the damn thing nearly a hundred times the previous evening. She reads the previous section and the section after, until she finally realizes what he tried to do.

_He sandwiched it between the things that were most important to me._ The collaborative efforts and the increased assurances of communication, with one monthly meeting ensured between department heads versus quarterly meetings.

Tifa utters a noise of disbelief, though she’s not sure why it surprises her so much. This is Cloud Strife they’re talking about—the borderline narcissistic, egotistical robot heading a corporation in charge of manufacturing impossible mechanical artistry and protective equipment. Him trying to sneak something so blatantly impertinent into the contract is a power move he would always attempt to make.

Jessie steals the paper, and Yuffie curves her neck over Jessie’s shoulder, both reading over the passage. Jessie’s nose wrinkles, and Yuffie raises a brow.

“Wait, did Asshole write this himself?”

Jessie fans herself. “Um, if he did, can I just say how this is _blackmail?_ It’s like he’s putting you into handcuffs. Don’t get me wrong, I know this is ethically unsound, but… why does this turn me on?”

Tifa shakes her head at her. “Jessie, you’ve always been ethically unsound.”

Jessie laughs. “What can I say, I love it.”

“Teef, this is nuts,” Yuffie says, sucking her tea loudly through her straw. “This might even be crazier than those emails.”

“That’s what Zack said, too,” Aerith says. “He says you shouldn’t sign this unless you are absolutely okay with being _chained_ to the company. Zack’s words,” Aerith adds. “Even though Asshole also chained himself, it’s still…questionable.”

Tifa sighs. “This is his next move. It’s like we’re going to battle.”

“Yeah. _But,_ he’s an asshole who gave you a twelve and a half percent _raise._ That’s like, unheard of anywhere,” Yuffie exclaims.

“And only after I threatened to ruin his reputation…” Tifa mumbles.

“You know what I think really sealed the deal?” Aerith says, leaning against the table. Her eyes sparkle, summery green and bubbly. “When you thumbed lipstick on his mouth.”

“Oh, you _know_ he was so turned on by that,” Jessie titters. “I bet no other girl has ever _dared_ touch him that way.”

Tifa begins to feel herself blush.

“You are all the worst.”

“Also, when you leaned over his desk. I know that camisole dips. I’m sure he got to see your bra,” Yuffie adds.

“And when you mussed your hair up, he must have been beside himself,” Aerith states.

“And your bunched up skirt—“

“Okay, I get it,” Tifa interrupts, but she begins hiding her face. “I promise, _nothing_ in his demeanor changed the whole time. He clenched his fist, but…” She ends with a sigh.

“So, you know what I think you should do?” Aerith says, reaching over and poking Tifa’s shoulder. “You should go to his office, discuss that tiny little clause, and then—“

“And then tell him you’ll only sign it if he bends you over his office desk and—“

Yuffie snorts up her tea. Tifa’s cheeks burn brightly.

“Jessie!”

She holds up her hands, beginning to laugh loudly. “I’m just _saying._ Remember, I’m the morally unsound one, here.”

“Brilliant,” Yuffie says. “Guess it’s time to go to battle again, Teef.”

“And make sure you tell him you know _exactly_ what he’s trying to make you do,” Aerith advises. “He, of all people, knows this is not how you do business.”

When Tifa gets back to her office, she mulls over the contract for a few minutes before sending Cloud Strife an email.

Mr. Strife,

I have read over the contract. There is a section I would like to personally discuss with you before signing.

Please let me know what time would be best for you to meet with me.

Sincerely,

Tifa Lockhart

Senior Executive Marketing Specialist

SOLDIER CORP

His responding email arrives to her inbox not thirty seconds later.

Ms. Lockhart,

I have no scheduled appointments, today. I am available to discuss it now.

Cloud Strife

Chief Executive Officer

SOLDIER CORP

Astounded, Tifa glances around her desk, making sure she needs nothing other than herself and her contract. She does a quick self-assessment in the bathroom before she rolls her eyes exasperatedly at herself. Locking her office door behind her, she heads to the elevator, feeling that strange, persevering bout of nerves she experienced before the first meeting.

The elevator ride lasts about a century, and the hallway is twice as long as yesterday. Scarlet eyes her with her severe, almost icy, stare, and tells her she is free to enter Mr. Strife’s office.

“Thank you,” Tifa tells her, and Scarlet glances at her stockings and her skirt. Tifa feels an uncomfortable flare of defensiveness, as if she needs to explain herself for seeing Mr. Strife for two consecutive days when she previously never had before in the whole year he’s been CEO. She does her best to ignore it—she’s just his secretary, and Tifa _did_ do this to herself—and places her hand on the chilled knob of the office door. She pushes it open and enters.

Cloud Strife is again seated in his giant office chair. Pen in hand, he is writing something down on his notepad. He looks up at her entry.

“Miss Lockhart,” he states, glancing to a chair in front of him. “Please, sit.”

She takes the same seat as she had the day before. She tries not to feel the flames of shame as she waits for him to finish.

When he does, he looks up to her. No expression again. He’s wearing a dark navy suit today, a pale blue undershirt, a navy suit vest, and a black tie. She notices a wolf head tie pin for the first time. She doesn’t think he was wearing one the previous day.

“What passage did you want to discuss?” he asks.

She clears her throat, thumbing to the correct page. “This one,” she says, leaning forward and bringing the paper in front of him. She presses her finger to the beginning of the paragraph.

Cloud hardly glances over it. “Yes. And?”

“Did you write this?”

He looks up at her question. “I write all my business contracts.”

“I…see,” she says. Her gaze falls back to the packet. “Well, I wanted to discuss this more thoroughly. Was this in reference to my threat about HR?”

Cloud raises one eyebrow one centimeter. “Yes. It was also to…” he trails, and this shocks her. Tifa doesn’t think Cloud Strife never doesn’t know what to say. His eyes flick down to the vicinity of her neck and chest before they move up to her face. His stare turns contemplative, and the expression of them flutters. It is like the bending of blinds across the window, hinting at something in the shadows. His eyes move back to the contract, and it’s such a quick thing, Tifa isn’t sure if she imagined it. “It was also to assure loyalty to the company.”

“Loyalty?” Tifa asks. “Mr. Strife, it was blackmail.”

“And, I don’t think, any different than your threat,” he counters.

She stares at him. He stares back. The blinds shift again.

She takes a deep breath. “I…admit my behavior yesterday was very out of character of me. I was angry. I’ve…” she looks away from him, unable to take the depth of his stare. “I’ve never been so angry before. And I…I admit that I’m ashamed of all of it. Then, I read over this contract, and I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe you would write out something like this, that detailed everything I asked.” She tilts her head, smiling wryly. “Then I saw the clause, and I knew it was too good to be true.”

When she looks up, she sees his jaw buckling. It’s the second time she’s ever seen it, but it’s not backed by ire. He shifts in his seat, and the line of his brow hovers over his eyes, gently pinching the skin.

“I am sure it was nothing that surprised you, considering who you believe me to be.”

Tifa begins to frown.

“I don’t see how my perception of you has anything to do with this, Mr. Strife.”

His chest rises in a sigh, and he glances at his notepad. His eyebrows are still pinched. It’s a curious thing. He’s frustrated. Cloud Strife, frustrated. This is different. Cloud Strife doesn’t _have_ emotion attached to business.

“Earlier this year,” he begins, and his voice, while edged in the sharp, succinct tone that rules him, it is also dusted with something else. “January, the end of winter. You finished a project for the Sector Five cathedral.”

A blinding zap ricochets into her. She stiffens on her chair. “I…I did.”

“Reeve was in charge of it, but he had so much on his plate at the beginning of the year that you offered to take it.”

Tifa swallows, unsure of what he’s trying to do. More baiting? More twisting of her hands behind her back?

“Yes,” she says, voice taut.

His eyes leave his notepad, and he catches her eye.

“I think you know it was successful. The cathedral took your blueprint for their signature, which in turn helped with their branding. It increased their membership and increased their donations. They’ve been able to make an orphanage with these profits. The Leaf House?”

Tifa feels like her stomach is bottoming out. She visits the cathedral from time to time, if only to say hello to the owners and preacher, to see how they’re faring. Aerith donates flowers from her shop and babysits when she can.

“Yes. Yes, that’s correct.”

Cloud’s eyebrows relax as he looks at her, then his eyes fall back to his notepad. _What’s written on it?_ She thinks. _What’s there that I can’t see?_

“After that project, your work began to…falter, which is why I began to send you emails.”

The emails, she thinks. The dastardly, terrible emails. She has them saved in a separate folder, opening them up when she feels like she needs the slap to her heart. To remember her shortcomings, and, if she’s honest, to fuel her desperate fire to be better.

So far, it has never seemed to work.

“They were…enlightening,” Tifa tries. Cloud must notice he discomfort, because he continues.

“I sent them because I knew how great your work has been. How great is has always been. This last project with the merger has not been up to your normal standards,” he says. “Do you know what’s been holding you back?”

Tifa resettles into her seat, feeling the claw of unease. She can easily tell him something that is untruthful. _Just a creative block. Just tired. Just stressed from his pressuring._

She thinks it might stem from something more personal. It’s all about timing. She was promoted, and she was on top of the world. She could do anything. She had been proud and happy and felt like she’d conquered life. She had control.

And then, she didn’t.

“I know,” she says. “I’m…working through it. It will take me some time, but…” she shakes her head. “I will finish by the deadline.”

Cloud looks at her for a moment longer. The stare is not heated, nor is it overwhelming. It is simply an acknowledgement. He nods and moves on.

“You’ve also held your own and threatened me. I, in turn, tried to blackmail you. ”

Strangely enough, the change of topic is a relief. She places her hands on top of her knees.

“You are the first employee who has ever…demanded so much from me, and with such…intent,” he continues, and his tone is continually dusted with that _something._ It is not as edged. It’s almost dulling. Tifa’s frown deepens, uncertain if her ears are deceiving her.

“Blackmailing you was…” he trails, smirking, but it looks sardonic as it twists up the end of his lip. “Shortsighted.”

Tifa blinks. Her chest heaves in a deep breath, and it catches when he looks up at her, his eyes a potent, saturated blue. They aren’t as blank as they had been when she first walked in. _He’s trying_ , she thinks, suddenly. All the belligerent, twisted up feelings she had walking in, the ones that subsisted inside of her heart these past months, the ones weighing heavy in her heart and making her eyes prick with angry tears—they are blunted in the moment. It feels like the beginning structure of a bridge, the circle of light at the end of a long, dreary, enclosed tunnel that is rank with sewage.

Tifa is mature enough and responsible enough to extend an olive branch when it’s warranted, and this feels as good a time as any. The prickling of guilt has been imbedding itself in her ever since the meeting the day before.

“It _was_ shortsighted,” she says. “But so were my actions yesterday. I’d never accuse anyone like that. Not falsely. I was—and am—disappointed with myself.” His gaze is trained on her face so intensely that she must steel herself from looking away. “I wanted to let you know that, not because of the contract, but…because I think it’s the right thing to do.”

Perhaps it is the way that the afternoon sunlight hits the back of his neck. His jaw does not look as sharp as it had a minute before. His lips are in a straight line, and he is not showing any overt, outward emotion, but there is something that gives Tifa the impression of openness.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying this,” he starts. “But as reckless and questionable as your actions were yesterday, it also showed a lot of fortitude. It made me realize even further that our company couldn’t lose you, and...it impressed me.”

He doesn’t say it with any warmth. It is a fact-of-the-matter, no nonsense sentiment. But his eyes and his jaw _make_ it different. It means more, but Tifa isn’t sure what kind of _more._

Tifa feels herself straighten. “I…thank you, I think.”

“Now, for this contract,” he says, dragging the page back in front of him. “Is this clause the only thing you don’t like?”

He looks up at her, waiting. Her mouth parts, but nothing else comes to her mind except that he’s listening.

“No…I don’t believe so, Mr. Strife.”

He nods before opening a drawer in his desk. Sharpie in hand, he uncaps it and crosses through the clause on the paper. Tifa watches, and she waits for something to happen. She looks for the meteor to glimmer in the windowed wall behind him. She watches for hair to begin growing out of his palms.

“I believe this takes care of it, then,” he says, and he slides the page back to her. She takes it and looks over it, seeing the clause black and marked out like a scar.

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Strife.”

A small smirk appears on his face, and he grabs a pen from the holder on his desk. He stands, and he reaches across the desk, handing it to her. She stands and takes it from him. Her fingers graze against his hand when she grasps it, and his skin doesn’t cut her so he must be human.

She leans over to sign her name on the spot designated for her signature, right beside his own.

When she straightens to hand him back his pen, he’s looking at her like he’s never seen her before. His eyes have softened.

They aren’t ink stains. Suddenly, they are light beams.

Something has shifted. Tifa isn’t sure what’s happened, nor how this change in energy between them, this change of demeanor, this different dusting has settled over them, just like it has settled against the blunted tone of his voice.

“As we put this episode behind us,” he says, his eyes holding hers. “I look forward to seeing as much heart in all your projects that you’ve shown in the cathedral. And I look forward to working with you more closely, Tifa.” He lifts out his palm to her.

She glances down at it before shifting her stance. She takes his hand.

“As do I, Mr. Strife.”

His hand is warm—so different than what she expected. She imagined a chill, as icy and frosted as frozen grass.

And the next thing, she doesn’t expect at all.

He smiles.


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your support, everyone! I adore each and everyone of you. ❤️
> 
> Only warning includes mild angst, but I promise we are almost to the most important thing. ~~THE DESK SEX.~~
> 
> I hope you enjoy this one! Happy reading. Stay safe and take care.

Seven weeks and four days. That’s it. Only seven weeks and four days until the merger.

Tifa stares at the small calendar on the edge of her desk. A happy moogle flies around the June title, its cheeks tinted with blush and its little arms gripping the _J_. She has jotted notes around the small blocks of the days, a _B_ labeled for Barret for Wednesdays and an _R_ labeled for Reeve on Thursdays.

Tifa’s eyes flutter to the _C._ She wrote it in blue, for no other reason than to remind her of his eyes. Ink stains. _Light beams._

His eyes are ink stains when he shows his perpetual, blank expressions, bleeding into her skin like pen on paper. They are only _light beams_ when he shows the hint of thoughtfulness—the ghost of humanity.

She turns to her computer and into the graphic designing program. She still can’t believe he smiled. It had been small, nothing extravagant. Barely any tips of his teeth were showing underneath his lips.

Yuffie’s voice comes to mind. _He looks twelve years old, and that’s unsettling._ Tifa admits, the smile _did_ make him seem much more boyish. Much younger. It softened the angled slants of his face.

She stares at her progress on her computer screen. Barret had some good ideas earlier this week when she met with him. Gruff and not as creative, Barret always sees the logistics of what Tifa is trying to express with a few direct words. As a project manager, Tifa’s position is now above Barret’s in the technicalities of business, but their dynamic hasn’t changed. Barret is still a mentor, and if Tifa’s bold enough to say, a friend.

“Remember, Shinra’s all about energy and fuel sources. They’re bold, loud, and goddamn lunatics if you ask me, but they do good business. They’re also growing materia pharmaceuticals pretty quickly. Add something shiny and obvious as a nod to it.”

Reeve’s meeting yesterday was just as insightful. Reeve, the Chief Marketing Officer, and Tifa’s _direct_ boss, is always a source of inspiration. Succinct, straightforward, and kind, Reeve has not been as hard on Tifa as Cloud has been. Cloud had directed Reeve to critique Tifa’s work. When Reeve didn’t critique as _well_ as Cloud had wanted, Tifa received Cloud’s first email. _Sorry, Tifa,_ Reeve had told her that morning. _I know what stress you’re under. I didn’t think your work was bad enough to warrant anything more than a scolding._ And by scolding, Reeve meant a gentle suggestion. Perhaps he had known Tifa too long and watched her work evolve too closely to give her anything harsher than that. He’s always been too decent, Tifa thinks. Too understanding. Sometimes, Tifa wishes they were all like Cloud in the way they do business—short and intense and, before yesterday, what Tifa believed to be completely emotionally unattached. Emotions have always been so difficult for Tifa to put away, especially now and especially this year. It’s an odd thing to be envious of Cloud Strife for, but Tifa can admit that it does have its merits. What would it be like to not feel their severity? What would it be like to erase the line of feeling to actions? To cut off? To crank out her work efficiently and without doubt, going home without the burden of the day’s personal stresses?

She wonders if that’s why she lost all control earlier that week with her accusations. Cracking. Breaking apart at the seams. Losing her mind.

She stares at the outline on her computer and sighs. She’s made headway the past two days, but it is still a half-baked piece. Of course, no one can create a complete idea in that amount of time, but it still seems to be… _inadequate._ The taste of the twelve and a half percent raise settles on her like the soft stings of snow. For that kind of money, she should be finishing a project a _day._

She glances at the digital clock on her computer screen. There is now less than three hours before her meeting with Cloud. She shouldn’t feel terrified, but the anxious rush of anticipation prickles at her skin when she thinks about sitting in front of him and that solid, expensive desk, as if she’ll be examined and judged for her sins.

 _This is ridiculous._ She shakes her head and rolls her shoulders before continuing her work.

When 1:45 pm rolls around, Tifa saves her work and composes an email, placing it as an attachment.

Mr. Strife,

Here is the work in progress of the SOLDIER CORP/Shinra Inc. Merger project. I will arrive to your office shortly.

Sincerely,

Tifa Lockhart

Senior Executive Marketing Specialist

SOLDIER CORP

She stands from her desk. Hesitating for a moment, she decides to take her portable tablet—Cloud will most likely have a dozen critiques she’ll need to take into account. She presses it against her chest like a shield as she makes her way out of her office, locks the door behind her, and heads up to the top floor.

* * *

Scarlet’s eyes are just as strikingly severe as ever when Tifa comes up to her desk.

“I have a meeting at 2:00 pm?” Tifa says. Scarlet’s gaze darts to her outfit, again, and Tifa follows her stare. She’s wearing a pencil skirt, like usual, but nude hose encases her legs all the way up to her waist. Her dress shirt is long sleeved and is buttoned to her collar, tucked into her waist. It’s stifling when walking outside in the summer heat, but it’s comfortable in the chill of the office building. Scarlet glances back up to her and smirks. Her eyes gleam like knives, and she is a devil gloved up in her skin tight red dress— _how many does she have?_ Tifa wonders abruptly. Maybe as many red dresses as Tifa has stockings.

Can’t fault a girl for her fashion weaknesses, she supposes.

Scarlet picks up the phone on her desk. “Mr. Strife? Ms. Lockhart is here to see you. Yes? Alright.”

Scarlet hangs up and motions toward the door. “You may go in. He’s…ready for you.”

Scarlet continues smirking at her. Tifa internally sighs. It’s been a week since the meeting for the contract, and while Tifa communicates with several other employees via email throughout the week days, she isn’t quite in the loop with company gossip. She thinks it’s better for her state of mind not knowing what she brought onto herself where Cloud is concerned.

“Thank you,” she says, walking past Scarlet to the ominous doors. They are painted with a black stain and are solid wood, with a window of glass. It shines with Cloud Strife’s enameled name sliced into it. The lines are as sharp and precise as his jawline.

 _Except for the end of the last meeting,_ her mind argues. _You’re not allowing him to have a heart._

Tifa’s lips curl into a frown, and she gives an unnecessary knock before pushing into one of the doors.

Cloud is sitting behind his desk, turned at an angle to look at his computer. His stare at its screen is inscrutable, his lips a thin, cryptic line. He glances to her as she walks through the threshold.

“Ms. Lockhart,” he says, gesturing to the chair in front of him. “Please sit.”

She does as she’s offered, and she settles in the same cushioned chair as she has the past two times. She wonders if it’ll ever start to feel…normal.

“You’ve received my email?” she asks.

“Of course.”

She waits for him to continue. When he doesn’t, she clears her throat.

“I would like to know what you think,” she says. “I’ve brought my tablet with my saved projects so I can make notes and fixes as needed.”

Cloud stares at his computer monitor for a few more seconds before sitting back in his seat, crossing his arms in front of his chest, and glancing over to her. He’s wearing a black suit, today. It hangs over a dark blue suit vest and a black tie. She wonders what his closet looks like—is it severely organized, color coded, sectioned by days of the week? If his emails and his stature are anything to go by, she can’t imagine him letting one article of his clothing touch the floor. Or wrinkle.

His stare alone makes her straighten. His gaze is filled with starch.

“A few things,” he starts. He gestures to her tablet and looks back at the computer. “The image with the sword and the materia. I think the inclusion of both is a better idea than the previous ones.”

Tifa tries to hide her grimace. The first one she made—she’ll admit— _was_ uninspired. It didn’t incorporate the heart of either company, consisting of a silhouette of the metal plates creating the infrastructure of Midgar and the large, intimidating, and almost ominous, specter of Shinra’s Tower.

It had been unpleasant, gray, and dire. It didn’t look like the combination of two companies; rather, it had looked like a foreboding future. In her mind, Tifa thought it had been her subconsciousness talking to her, on top of the already frustrated emotions she had been feeling at the time. She had showed how _ugly_ the world could be—and would be.

Her second, she thought, had been significantly better. She utilized the steep, steely lines of a sword—one of SOLDIER’s most popular and iconic items—pushed deeply into the lines of soil outside of Midgar, with the backdrop of the Shinra Tower. When she pulls it from her files and looks upon it, now, she can now freely say it looks somewhat like a last stand. Like a death.

 _Death is infiltrating everything,_ she thinks. _My mind. My work. My family._

“Thank you,” she answers. “I thought it might be a better avenue to incorporate the most recognizable icons from each company.”

Cloud nods, and the skin between his brows slightly knit with thought.

“It is an...improvement,” Cloud relents, his pause around the word careful and slow. His face remains stone, and Tifa thinks he has the world’s best poker face. He’d win countless tournaments if he ever decided to quit the CEO business. 

Tifa tries to remain still in her seat, clenching her tablet.

“Okay. Great,” she says. “Thank you. I also drew out and collected potential additions and ideas in case this one didn’t pan out.” She taps around on her tablet, pulling up different sketches. “Some of these are from other employees in the marketing department. I annotated them with their names.”

One of Cloud’s eyebrows raises. “Other employees?”

Tifa pauses but continues. “Yes. I’ve told them to email me any and all of their ideas when they have them.” She hesitates again before deciding to say, “I think fostering communication between employees of the company is one of the best things for creativity and motivation.” She tries to smile at him. Cloud looks at her lips for a moment before glancing back to her eyes, then shifts his gaze to the computer.

“Yes,” he says, his tone still walking on the blunt edge of a knife. “I believe I’m beginning to learn my lesson in...communication.”

He glances back to her after he says it. His lips pluck up in the ghost of a smirk. Tifa stares at him before feeling the lightly burning heat of a blush creep up on her face. She turns her gaze to her tablet, hoping to hide her face with her hair.

“I’m...glad to hear it, Mr. Strife,” she says, her voice coming out softly.

He regards her for a moment longer before turning back to his computer. “I think a few of these have potential for different departmental designs.” He begins listing off the ones that catch his attention. He emphasizes the R&D department of Shinra, including their increasing healing agents and pharmaceuticals. He touches on the elemental aspects of some of the designs, including fire and thunder harnessed from the materia Shinra has been manufacturing for the masses to protect themselves from the fiends that still roam the plains outside of city hubs. Cloud also highlights the summoning entities, which have become an archeological marvel the last few years ever since they were unearthed and mined like diamonds in various caves around the world. Shinra, being Shinra, got their greedy hands on them, first, eventually unveiling a few of them to Gaia. One is Shiva, a beautiful ice queen, long limbed and dusted with frost. The other is Ifrit, a monstrous fire lord with a mane of flame. They are dichotomous beings, opposites in every since of the word. However, since being released from their jeweled tombs, there is rumor that they have gravitated toward one another. Their energies are attracted, some news reports have written. They need one another in this world. All the romantics took the news story and ran with it, creating a massive uproar among the Midgarian community. Shinra capitalized, making trinkets and t-shirts branded with Shiva and Ifrit, separate and together, respectively. The design Cloud chooses is one Tifa is secretly proud of making—the essences of Shiva and Ifrit curled around one another in a yin and yang fashion, circled in a gleaming orb of materia. 

“Complements,” Cloud says, his mouth thinning with thought. “It’s a good theme for both companies, to support one another’s energies together.”

Tifa finds herself smiling down at her tablet as she makes note of what Cloud says. Strange, she thinks. Never had she suspected him of having an opinion quite like that one.

“What?”

She glances up from her note to see Cloud’s eyes focused on her. Still smiling, she shakes her head and shrugs. “Oh, nothing. I agree with you, that’s all.”

Cloud looks as if he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t and the moment passes. Tifa finishes her scribble on the tablet. 

_Cloud said this?_ she writes, and she makes a surprised smiley face surrounded by exclamation marks. 

As they continue on, the enormity of the project’s scope begins to hit Tifa with more and more impact the longer their meeting lasts. There will be a total of nearly twenty designs, with each one tying into the main branding title in one way or another, be it color scheme, design continuity, theme, personalization of each company, and intertwining them together. Tifa’s heart races at the thought of all of it compiling, the huge endeavor clean and shiny and new as the body of it begins to take shape. It’s finally beginning to defog for her, the edges and substance becoming increasingly clearer and sharpened.

Tifa takes notes in the margins of each image, adding the name of the employees she thinks will handle the branding of the smaller departments the best, marking the ones she’s unsure about for Barret to divvy up, and compiling the rough draft to send to Reeve for any and all other confirmation, along with an open invitation for his thoughts and ideas.

“I guess that’s everything I wanted to talk to you about,” Tifa says eventually, shifting up in the chair. She realizes she’s been slouching into it, and she’s had her knees crossed and comfortable.

“Are you sure? It’s only been two and a half hours,” Cloud says.

Shocked at both Cloud’s tone and his words, Tifa looks up. The time is edging toward 4:30 pm. Her mouth parts and falls open. Has she really been in his office for so long? No wonder she’s been falling deeper and deeper into the chair.

Her eyes dart to Cloud, noticing the smirk that’s appeared, once more, on his face. Has he cracked a joke? Sarcasm?

A hint of personality?

Tifa’s spine immediately straightens. “Oh. I didn’t realize the time. I’m sorry, I—“

“Don’t be,” he interrupts her. “I had nothing else scheduled this afternoon.”

Tifa doesn’t relax. She bites the inside of her lip. “Well, I...thank you. For your time. I really appreciate you going over everything with me.”

“Of course. I told you I was looking forward to working with you.”

Their eyes settle on each other. Cloud isn’t smirking anymore, but there’s a shadow, again. The ruffle of the blinds—the shift of the curtain. There’s something about it that Tifa can’t quite interpret, but he seems sincere with his words, and perhaps that’s what’s so intriguing and surprising.

She feels a sudden urge to take flight—to run—and it’s so abrupt and unsettling, like an instinct deeply embedded into her genes, that her heart pounds wildly, dumping a bucket of adrenaline into her veins. She takes a breath, shuts off her tablet, and goes to stand. “I have a lot to do. I won’t take up any more of your time.”

“One more thing,” Cloud answers her quickly, as if sensing the absolute necessity for her departure. “The Midgar Specialties account. I wanted to…show you something.”

She’s pulling her tablet back up to reboot it, but Cloud gestures toward his computer. “No need. I’ll show you, here.”

Tifa clenches the tablet to her chest. She allows her legs to take her behind Cloud’s desk, and it feels bizarre, almost frightening, to stand so close to where he’s sitting. It is a ridiculous feeling—an illogical sensation—but the change in perspective behind his desk is a powerful tug on her stomach. Her eyes flick to the chair she had been sitting in, and she briefly wonders how he sees everyone else who sits before him.

“I know this won’t take you long to finish,” he says, bringing her attention to his monitor. She’s close to him, she realizes. Closer than she’s ever gotten.

_That’s a lie,_ her mind tells her. _You’ve been closer. You ran your thumb against his lip._

She tightens her hold against her tablet.

“But I wanted to comment on your progress,” he continues, and he drags the cursor of his mouse along the rough draft of her project. “I’m impressed that you’ve continued to give this one much thought, considering the magnitude of the rebranding merger.”

Tifa swallows. “Thank you.”

“What I think you highlighted best is their character. Midgar Specialties is an item shop. They are locally owned, a small business, but well-known and cherished in the community—like the cathedral.” He glances up to her, and Tifa has been unconsciously leaning forward to see the area he was examining. She backs up almost immediately, his stare a punch of blue, as blue as a freshly made bruise blooming on her skin. She almost winces from the weight of it.

“It’s one shop. We won’t get much out of this account, and I admit we’re doing it to receive better reception to our company in Sector Eight. Business is all about reputation, be it if we care about who we work with or not.”

Tifa’s lips start twisting into a frown. She knows that. Perhaps that’s why she’s been so much more inspired with the smaller accounts. They’re homey, and they are thankful, much more wholesome than...Shinra. She loves building the reputation for the little ones, not the giants that don’t require it.

“I...realize you don’t care for that,” he says, and it startles her. She catches his eye again, and her legs continue to hover between running and complete stillness.

“No, I do,” she manages to say. She swallows to wet her suddenly parched throat. “For the family companies. Not…” she pauses, unable to say _Shinra._

Cloud doesn’t comment on it, continuing. “I can tell that with this one,” he says, breaking his gaze and turning back to the monitor. “There’s a lot of color in this. A lot of intricate lines. It’s eye catching. It’s something that will have people stop when they walk past the shop on the street.” He pauses, and she hears the small exhale he takes, being this close to him. When he swivels to face her, she’s hit with what must be his cologne.  It is mild, faint, touching her like a tease. 

“Why are you telling me this?” she asks.

He opens his mouth and hesitates. Cloud Strife, pausing for the correct words just like at their last meeting. Tifa steels herself, cementing her heeled feet into the floor.

“I...wanted to tell you that _this_ was why I sent you those emails. Not to discourage you, but to remind you.” His gaze falls to the tablet covering her chest. “I’ve realized that was not the correct way to tell you, so...I wanted to tell you this way, by showing you what I meant.”

She stares at him. At her silence, his eyes move up to catch on hers.

The blue shade of a shadow, she thinks. The blue shade of sincerity.

Tifa opens her mouth. Her throat clenches.

“I...thank you, Mr. Strife. This is...better. I think you’re learning,” she says, attempting lightness in her words.

She nearly drops her tablet when he smiles at her. It is brief, just like the one before, and it lasts a microsecond before he nods and stands. She takes a step back, then another. Her heart throbs behind her sternum.

_Run,_ her muscles scream.

Cloud gestures toward the expanse of his office. “I’ll walk you out.”

Tifa nods and turns, attempting to keep her pace normal. Her heels nearly wobble, and she’s thankful she’s so used to wearing them. When they arrive to the door, Cloud reaches around her for the knob before she can, and his chest brushes against her shoulder as he opens the door.

“Enjoy your weekend, Tifa,” he says.

Tifa turns her head before she walks out, her eyes in line with his mouth.

“You too,” she breathes. She tries to smile again, and she sees the slight buckling of his jaw standing so close. Her eyes manage to lock onto his before she turns away from him, and his gaze is a jolt straight into her stomach.

_Maybe he’ll electrocute me after all._

She forces her pace to remain steady as she ignores Scarlet, whose eyes burn a hole into her back while she treads down the hallway. When she steps into the elevator, she notices Cloud’s office door moving to close. She blinks and wildly wonders if she had mistaken the burn of Scarlet’s stare for Cloud’s. Had he watched her walk down the hallway, the whole entire hallway, with his jaw buckled, with his eyes holding that shadow?

Then she shakes her head. She runs a hand through her bangs. She tames her heart.

No, of course not. She’s becoming mad. Cloud Strife, while perhaps not as robotic as she believed before, is still an asshole.

She holds onto that shred of denial the rest of the journey back to her office.

* * *

Tifa’s weekend consists of her own, well-established routine.

Saturday mornings, she runs through exercises at the dojo. Saturday during the afternoon, she works on her work projects, does household chores, and, occasionally, sees her girlfriends. 

Sundays, if unable to see her friends Saturday, will hold a get together for brunch. The rest of the day, she’ll prep food for the coming week. 

This Saturday morning, like all her others, finds her at the dojo, practicing her forms, kicking and punching and flying through the air above the mats. Once, she had imagined Cloud’s face on the punching bags, fueling her fire and her rage, anything to help with the frustration of both him being a terrible humanand blaming him for everything else that’s happened to her. 

Today, the rage is harder to focus. It’s harder to find, slipping around her like droplets of mist as she jabs and hooks her gloved fists against the weighted bag. She imagines his smile on the bag, instead, hoping to sharpen her anger against _something,_ because how dare he give her an expression so pure, when all he’s been doing to her these past few months is shredding her soul? 

She sidekicks and sends a halfhearted roundhouse to the midsection of the bag. It swings lightly, like her kick had merely been a gentle breeze. 

“Ah, Miss Tifa. How are you?”

Tifa glances up, running her wrist across her sweaty forehead. She smiles. 

“Zangan. I’m okay. How are you?”

He nods in answer, crossing his fists into his sleeves. He teaches on weekend mornings, and Tifa glances behind him to see a few adults dispersing across the room to the lockers or to their folded clothes along the benches bordering the edge of the room, the sign of class already having ended.

“I am well. Do you need any assistance with your forms or positions?”

Tifa places one of her hands on her hips, grinning. “No, I think I’ve run through the ones I wanted, today. They’re not perfect, yet, but they will be.”

Tifa competes when she can. During this tumultuous timing, she’s thrown herself into everything. Tae Kwon Do. Piano and music. Work. Lots and lots of work. When Zangan offered her the opportunity to join on one of his teams for the Midgar Tae Kwon Do competition at the end of the summer, Tifa immediately accepted. 

“I expect nothing less from you,” he tells her, giving her a rare and soft smile. Usually, Zangan is harsh and critical, which is one of the things Tifa loves about him. She doesn’t come here to be coddled or complimented. She comes here to relieve frustration and energy and to temper the difficult emotions she can’t compromise on her own.

Zangan gestures to her. “I must ask. Is there anything you would like to discuss while you’re here? Something you cannot express through physical attacks on mats and bags?”

Tifa’s grin falters before she sighs. Zangan’s relationship to her is like a distant uncle. Or a hairdresser. Someone you’re not necessarily close to, but someone who is easy to talk to. She tells him things about her life that she doesn’t necessarily tell to anyone else. Physical activity soothes her just like a nice, deep hair cleaning. Like a good, old fashioned blowout. 

She’s told Zangan everything. From the anniversary of her mother’s passing, to her failing at her job, to her dad’s sickness. She’s told him the blunt, abridged version of events, with little emotion, listed off to him like bullet points. While she’s also told her friends about her life, it is different from Zangan. His perspective is unbiased and clear, unblemished by friendship.

“I’m…fine,” she says.

“It is okay not to be fine, my dear.”

Tifa hesitates, the quickened beat of her heart slowing now that she isn’t punching. “My dad’s…he’s undergone the first few rounds of chemotherapy.”

Zangan nods. “Do you continue speaking with him every week?”

Tifa glances to the floor. “Yes. I call him every Friday.”

“Has he changed his mind?”

Tifa’s lips thin. “Not yet.”

“Perhaps he will not,” Zangan says, his tone even and, somehow, soothing like a stream. “You may be asked to do something you’ve always thought yourself incapable of doing.”

Tifa’s eyebrows pinch, and she glances up to him. “I can’t accept it, Zangan. He needs to live here with me.”

“And yet, he refuses.”

Tifa begins to feel the discordant strings of sadness, coiled up against the slow burn of her anger. She clenches her internal fist around that anger, and she tries to ignore the swell of hurt. She expels a breath.

“I won’t accept it.”

Zangan frowns at her, the line of his brow depressing along his eyes. “Sometimes, Tifa, love is allowing yourself to see those incapabilities, greet them, know them, and accept them.”

Tina clenches her teeth. “I do see them. I know them. But what happens when I don’t…when I can’t…”

Zangan spreads his arms out in front of him, the wide sleeves of his uniform swallowing his wrists. “Work it out. Accept here what you can’t accept anywhere else. Feel here what your mind won’t allow anywhere else.”

Tira gazes at Zangan for moment before taking a deep, deep breath. The air fills up her lungs until they crush inside her chest. She closes her eyes and nods, expelling the air in one, big sigh.

“Yeah. I’ll try. Thank you, Zangan.”

He reaches out and places a hand on her shoulder. “You will find the peace you need, Tifa. It will come.”

 _Peace,_ she thinks turning toward the bag behind her. She throws a kick, clipping it with her shin. Something once so simple and easy is now the rarest thing in her world.

* * *

This weekend, Sunday brunch is the girl’s occasion to get together. They meet at their usual spot—and perhaps the _only_ spot—Seventh Heaven.

Tifa lets herself swim and glide along with the other girl’s lives, taking a much needed reprieve from her own.

Yuffie talks about her business, which she begrudgingly runs with her father, selling rare items and antiques that are uniquely of Wutain origin and culture.

“You know what I sold last week? A gold plated fortune cookie. That sucker didn’t even realize he’d never get his fortune because he can’t break through the gold!” She cackles.

Aerith talks about her flower shop and her customers, both the sweet ones and the ones that tax her endless, sparkling energy. She sells to both the upper crust, plate citizens and the poor in the slums, occasionally donating to the more rundown areas of different sectors.

Jessie tends to run her lines with them for whichever new broadway play she’s starring in. She takes odd jobs here and there between her roles, from monster eradication to cleaning homes to flower delivery via Aerith.

The new role has Jessie as a down on her luck lady of the night, meeting and falling in love with a rich business owner.

“Richard! How dare you buy me all these jewels!” Jessie scolds exaggeratedly into her mimosa before snorting. “I swear, why do so many people like these kinds of dramas? The scenes aren’t even that hot.”

Tifa laughs. Being with them like this is the best distraction from her work and personal life—and they seem to realize it. They haven’t and don’t ask her specifics over her dad, and when they eventually broach the topic of Cloud—

“Okay, so the asshole smiles. What the fuck? That sounds out of character,” Yuffie asks.

Jessie snickers. “Oh, I don’t know about that, Yuff. It sounds like he has _layers._ Like Richard in the play.”

Aerith grins. “And he actually sounds thoughtful. He’s been listening to you, Tifa.”

Tifa’s neck heats up. She takes a sip of her mimosa. “I guess that’s a good thing. He’s been open minded about our department’s ideas. He hasn’t sent anymore emails.”

Jessie places her chin in her hand, her lips curling into a devious smile. Tifa braces herself.

“What about his _stares?_ Does it feel like he’s undressing you with his eyes?”

Tifa shakes her head, a snort pulled out of her. Yuffie belts out a laugh.

“You know, it might be easier if it felt like that. It would mean he’s a creep,” Tifa says. “Instead, it’s like he’s…looking at _me._ ”

Aerith places a hand on her forehead. “Deep, dark, mysterious CEO attempting to show his favorite employee his true colors,” she says, sighing. Tifa rolls her eyes.

“I am not his favorite employee.”

Aerith simply waves her hand. “Listen, I will hate him for as long as you want me to, Tifa, but I have to say that my opinion of him is getting much better after what you’ve told us.”

Tifa sighs. “It might have been easier hating him.”

Yuffie grabs the carafe full of at least eighty percent champagne and at most twenty percent orange juice, topping off her glass. “Hate, love, what’s the difference, really?”

“The sex will be explosive either way,” Jessie says, grinning at Tifa’s immediate protest. “Look, I’m still waiting for the week where you call us up and tell us he looked so deeply into your eyes that you had no choice but to pull him over his desk and go down on him right there.”

Tifa nearly chokes on her drink. Aerith giggles. Yuffie raises her eyebrows at Tifa.

“I mean, you both have already crossed the line in ethical business practice. Him sending those emails and harassing you. You threatening him. Signing a contract in blood. A relationship is the next logical step,” Yuffie says, ticking off her fingers as she speaks.

Jessie nods gravely. “I absolutely _love_ to say this Tifa, but as an actress, this is what’s going to happen in your future.”

Tifa folds up the paper wrapped around her napkin and flicks it at Jessie. It hits her forehead.

“Hey!” she shrieks, grabbing the offending piece of paper and flicking it back.

Yuffie and Aerith soon join them, laughing hysterically when one veers off and lands on another customer’s plate.

“Can we please never grow up?” Yuffie whispers, avoiding making eye contact with the customer as said customer looks around the room, taking the paper off their eggs.

“Never,” Aerith agrees, grinning around the table at each of the girls.

Tifa adores them. After she gets back to her apartment, she feels like she can accomplish everything she needs—Cloud Strife, her work, and, most importantly, her father.

At least, for a little while.


	5. V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This consecutive updating will never happen again, you all have been warned. LOL. This is mostly because I couldn't wait and couldn't stop writing. 
> 
> Warning: Some explicit sexual content in this chapter, folks. Desk sex? I guess you'll see. 
> 
> Happy reading! Thank you to everyone who's read/commented/gave this story kudos!

As the next week rolls around, Tifa falls into her work like it’s her life source. She arrives at her office at 7:00 am instead of 8:00 am. She brings her lunch and works through it. She walks out of her office and talks to the other employees in her department, discussing with them the general ideas and progress, keeping tabs on who is struggling or requiring more time to complete projects. She talks with Barret, who is more enthusiastic than he had been the prior week about the projects—probably because he’s able to do what he’s the best at doing: commanding and leading the groups for melding the different departments of both brands together.

By midweek, she sends updated drafts of her works to Cloud. She’ll have another meeting with him on Friday, and they’ll have a newly implemented company meeting the following week. It’s exciting. Tifa’s looking forward to seeing what the different departments are incorporating and how each of them are adapting for the merger.

She receives a reply from Cloud ten minutes after she sends her updated drafts.

Ms. Lockhart,

I admire how much progress has already been made. I realize we are to meet on Friday, but could I inconvenience you to stop by my office around the end of the work day, around 4:30 pm? It will be brief. I will not keep you any longer than 5:00 pm.

Regards,

Cloud Strife

Chief Executive Officer

SOLDIER CORP

_Oh, he wants to inconvenience you, does he?_

Tifa nearly blanches at the sudden Jessie-like voice that infiltrates her mind. Blushing, she shakes her head in a huff. She’s spent too much time with them, lately.

She is, however, immediately intrigued by the email and equal parts terrified, _inconvenience_ aside. Tifa opens up her reply.

Mr. Strife,

Of course. I will be at your office at 4:30 pm. I hope it’s not

Tifa pauses. She backspaces the last four words.

If there is anything you would like me to change or edit before our 4:30 pm meeting, please send me your suggestions so I can present them.

Sincerely,

Tifa Lockhart

Senior Executive Marketing Specialist

SOLDIER CORP

His speed never ceases to amaze her. Twenty seconds later, he sends his reply.

Ms. Lockhart,

I don’t want you to change anything.

Cloud Strife

Chief Executive Officer

SOLDIER CORP

Tifa blinks at the response. A bright streak of pride washes into her stomach, and she begins to smile. It’s unnecessary to reply, but she’s too happy to care.

Mr. Strife,

Great. I look forward to meeting with you.

Sincerely,

Tifa Lockhart

Senior Executive Marketing Specialist

SOLDIER CORP

If her reply is unnecessary, his is superfluous. It gives her another jolt when her email pings.

Ms. Lockhart,

Likewise.

Cloud Strife

Chief Executive Officer

SOLDIER CORP

Tifa doesn’t realize she’s grinning until five minutes later, when she’s shading Shiva’s jawline, tinting her skin a rich, icy blue.

* * *

“Back again, are we?”

Tifa is greeted by the lovely Scarlet Dagger. Tifa plasters on a smile.

“Yes, I am. Let Mr. Strife know I’m here?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s quite expectant,” Scarlet answers, her perfect, white teeth sharp and glinting in her smile, rimmed with bloody red lipstick. It looks like she’s just devoured a raw steak. She picks up her receiver, and hums her inquiry to Cloud. “Certainly,” she answers after a moment, placing it back onto the holder. She looks Tifa up and down.

“Another skirt, today?”

Tifa tries to maintain a straight face, glancing down at her ensemble. No surprises, there. Dress shirt, pencil skirt, black stockings. She looks back to Scarlet.

“Another red dress?”

Scarlet purses her lips and is about to reply when Cloud’s office door opens.

Tifa is surprised when she sees Cloud in the threshold, looking at her and nodding, gesturing for her to enter. “Come in, Tifa.”

Tifa ignores Scarlet and walks into his office. He closes the door behind her, walking beside her to his desk. Instead of offering her a seat, as is his usual greeting, he leans against the front of his desk to face her. She remains standing as well, waiting for him to start, and he states, “This had been unconfirmed a few weeks ago, merely a rumor that the Shinras evaded answering until we made the merger official. You might have heard it, too. It’s about Rufus Shinra, Mr. Shinra’s son, potentially taking over the company.”

Tifa slowly nods. She had heard this floating around the hallways and read some speculative articles online. Either way, Tifa didn’t think it would change anything.

“I have,” she answers.

Cloud crosses his arms in front of his chest. A navy suit, today, she notices briefly. A black suit vest and, strangely, no tie. He looks oddly incomplete without one.

“I met with both of them this morning, and they finally confirmed the rumor. Mr. Shinra is retiring once the merger is final. Rufus Shinra will take over the company in full. While I don’t anticipate any significant changes from a business standpoint, Rufus did communicate that he requires specific…conditions for the rebranding.”

A sudden bout of understanding hits Tifa. “Oh, I see,” she says, contemplating. A slow pour of dread begins entering her stomach. “Are they…drastic conditions?”

Cloud must recognize her hesitancy, because his eyes, steely and sharp when shuttling out information, soften just slightly enough to help with the coming blow. “Fortunately, no. I didn’t want this to dampen your progress, because you and the rest of the marketing department are firing on all cylinders. I just…wanted to give you a personal account of Rufus Shinra and what he would like to see in the brand.”

He pushes off his desk and walks closer to her. Tifa, in a panic, steps a few feet away, but Cloud merely grabs the back of the chair that she usually sits in. He begins to drag it around to his side of the desk and positions it beside his own.

“Have a seat. I’ll talk with you about my discussion with Rufus at the meeting.”

Tifa stares at the placement of the chairs. They’re close.

Why is she being such a coward? He is only a person. Internally sighing at herself, she walks to the chair while Cloud takes seat. He pulls up a document, and she sees Rufus Shinra’s picture as a thumbnail at the top. Listed below seems to be a timeline of events, and Tifa realizes it’s his biography.

“First, I wanted to let you know that I don’t want you to change anything that you’re doing,” Cloud says, turning in his chair to look at her. Her chair is static, so it doesn’t roll like his does. In this position, there are a few inches between them. “This is a merger, and Rufus will have to learn how to compromise if he isn’t…pleased with the marketing department’s work. They don’t have a marketing department of their own, so that’s our advantage, here.”

Tifa nods, smiling a little. “That’s good to know.”

Cloud watches her for a moment. “Luckily, all that Rufus specified was that he wants an R and S to be incorporated in all of the designs. Something to…identify himself in the company, besides the name.”

Tifa weighs this in her mind, her leftover dread blunting with relief. “That’s not bad at all. We could make something like a watermark in the corner of each one.”

Cloud rubs at his chin. “I mentioned that at the meeting, but Rufus is a bit more…enigmatic than his father. He wants something bolder and unique to fit his personality.”

The way Cloud says _enigmatic_ and _personality_ has Tifa examining his side profile. It almost sounded sarcastic, but she can’t be sure. She hums, opening up her tablet and opening a new, blank project. She titles it RS.

“Okay. No watermark, then.”

Tifa frowns and opens up the other projects, shifting through them for a better mental visual. “Hmm, enigmatic…” she mutters. The images that crop up in her mind are big and blaring, the R and S superseding the balance of the design. She doesn’t want the placement of the letters to pull away from the heart of the design, nor does she want it to seem out of place or jumbled.

“I pulled up his biography, in case that would help give you a better…idea,” Cloud says slowly. “I wasn’t sure what would…inspire you.”

At the hesitancy in his words, Tifa doesn’t have to try to smile at him. “Thank you. I’ve never met him, and I have no idea how he runs a business, so any information I can get will be helpful. I can also send it to the marketing department if you could email it to me.”

“Sure,” he says, clicking out of the document and doing just that.

“So, bold and unique...” Tifa says to herself, tapping the electronic pen on her lip.

“He’s not.”

At Cloud’s words, Tifa stops tapping her pen. She glances at him in surprise.

“He likes to think so,” Cloud continues, clicking back to the word document with his biography.

“Then tell me what he’s like, Mr. Strife,” Tifa says, instantly curious. Perhaps it _had_ been sarcasm she detected in his words before.

Cloud’s mouth opens and closes. He clears his throat, and as he speaks, his words are once again edged with the blank, straightforward tone of _business._ Suddenly, all echoes of his previous conversational timbre are gone.

“The entire Shinra family has been in business for three generations, each building upon their empire. Rufus’ father, Shinra senior, catapulted it up to what it is, today, and he’s taught Rufus every aspect of it—allegedly. Rufus grew up with everything at his disposal. He went to an elite boarding school. He went to the most prestigious university in Gaia and received his Masters in Business and Economics. He was bred to be the future head of the company, always knowing he would get it.”

Tifa listens to him, and she begins to compare. She has a mental tally of Cloud Strife’s successes in her mind—milestones she’s read about, his education, how he got to be one of the world’s youngest CEOs. Rufus and Cloud are nearly as dichotomous as Shiva and Ifrit.

She knows the bare essentials. Cloud’s family never owned a business. He grew up in a small town, his parents making lower-median income and not necessarily knowing the luxuries of life.

Cloud’s account of Rufus is not inspired. It is deadened, as though he is a computer spitting out facts.

“Okay,” Tifa says, continuing to watch him. “Tell me what you think.”

He pauses, turning toward her again. “What?”

“What do _you_ think about Rufus Shinra?”

Cloud’s demeanor shifts—just enough—before he shutters and closes himself off.

“My personal opinions have no place in this discussion.”

Tifa finds herself disappointed. He is distancing, now, she realizes. He is locking himself shut tight.

“What if it’s off the record?” she says.

He looks at her, lifting an eyebrow. “Off the record?”

“I’m curious,” she admits, and it’s a knee-jerk response. She wants him to tell her, and she’s almost desperate for that shift again, that ruffle. Now that she knows it exists, she can’t forget it. “I think it’ll help me figure out how to incorporate him into the brand.”

Cloud begins to shake his head. “I’m not sure I can see how it will help you.”

She breaks his stare, looking back down at the blank note on the tablet.

“Facts and history are all well and good,” she begins slowly. “But it doesn’t give any insight into personality or character. When I meet with clients, that’s the first thing I need. I have to know who they are to focus on what they want. It’s…it’s the same with this.”

She looks up, and they catch eyes again. It takes a moment before she sees the shadowing happen, and her heart trills up the artery in her neck. She can nearly feel the gears of him shifting as they sit so close.

“Off the record,” he states, his throat bobbing gently with a swallow. He glances away from her. “He’s arrogant. He’s not used to working for what he has, because he expects to get it no matter what he does. Being born into wealth has made him…entitled. It makes him an asshole most of the time.” At that, Cloud’s lips curl up into a wry smirk. “His father is an asshole, too, but what father isn’t?”

These words grip Tifa with high interest. That he’s using her favorite word to describe him is—ironic. And…telling.

_What father isn’t?_

“Mine’s actually pretty great,” Tifa tries, using a light tone.

Cloud looks back at her, smirking. “I’m glad one of us had a good father.”

Unsure how to respond, Tifa twirls her tablet pen over the screen. She writes nonsensical notes if only to collect her thoughts. She writes _asshole_ and _arrogant_ and _silver spoon._

Quietly, once she’s built up enough confidence, she asks, “What was your dad like?”

“He’s dead, so it doesn’t matter.”

Tifa almost flinches at his tone. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be.” He shifts in his chair. “So, off the record. I hope that helped you.”

His tone is final. The topic is finished. She notices the rigid line forming on his jaw, once more. He is not so shuttered, now, but he does seem to be frustrated—or angry—something she hasn’t seen within him in the last few meetings.

Hating the darker tone that’s infiltrating him, Tifa tries to lighten the mood.

“Well, at least there will be an S, and we can pretend it’s for Strife.”

Cloud gives her another small smirk, but this time it is amused and not wry. “I don’t really care about that.”

Tifa blinks, surprised. “You don’t? But it’s your company.”

His chest falls in a sigh. “Sure. But I don’t care about my name being in lights. Nobody needs to know unless they want to, and if they do they can just look it up.”

Tifa’s lips slant in a frown. “What about all the magazines? The news stories you interviewed for?”

Cloud raises a brow at her admittance, and she realizes what she’s exposed. She tries to lightly brush it off with a shrug. “Everyone reads them in the company. We all know.”

“I…do them because they won’t leave me alone otherwise. The faster I can get it over with, the better.”

_He hates attention._ It strikes her immediately. She hadn’t realized, but it makes sense. Besides the magazines and newspaper interviews, she’s never seen him make public headlines. He doesn’t make large appearances. His interviews were only over business and no divulgence of his personal life. Tifa remembers, because she had been curious. _How had he become such a dick?_ She had thought, reading over his mechanical answers and coming up short. Moogling him had been just as disappointing, with hardly three sentences over his personal life and his education.

“Do they bother you often?”

“Not as much, anymore, but they will when the merger happens.”

The sentence sounds tired, as if he’s already exhausted from the future. Tifa smiles a little.

“Maybe this next time won’t be so bad.”

He makes a noncommittal noise. “It will be.”

Tifa laughs lightly, surprised at how dry he says it.

“I was trying to make it seem less awful.”

“I appreciate you trying, but nothing you can say will make it better.”

She looks up to him, and he’s giving her a small smile. Her blood zings with the same jolt. She ignores it and continues smiling back at him.

“Worth a shot,” she says. He doesn’t respond, only staring with his smile. His gaze is a heavy press against the front of her body, and it’s a strange sensation—almost as appealing as a weighted blanket. “Um, were you able to look over any of the updated drafts I sent?”

Cloud shifts, but he doesn’t swivel away toward his computer. “I glanced over Shiva and Ifrit, but I wasn’t able to look over the others.”

Tifa glances down to her tablet and busies herself with opening to her Shiva, attempting to ignore how close they’ve been. She can feel the heat of him in the space that separates them, and it grows with its distraction.

“I’ve mostly been adding additional details to her for now, deciding on her shading and her lines,” she says, placing the tablet between them on his desk. Cloud inches forward, and his knee bumps against her calf. Tifa tries not to let it bother her.

“This is…good,” he says, his eyes running over the picture. He brings a hand forward to graze against the glass of the tablet. When he does, it pulls up her annotations. Tifa stops breathing. She never erased her silly note from the previous week.

Cloud notices it, his brows furrowing when he sees it. He gestures to the words _Cloud said_ _this?_ And the surprised smiley face. “What did I say?”

Tifa’s blush is nearly as hot as a bonfire. “I—um—nothing. You didn’t say anything, I was just…”

He looks at her, but there is nothing aggressive about his stare. It seems…amused. Nearly _friendly._ It’s so shocking that Tifa confesses.

“Last week, I was surprised at what you said about Shiva and Ifrit. That they were complementary. Their energies matching the businesses. And that you liked it.”

He smiles at her, and it’s a bit wider than it had been before. A line appears around his mouth, creasing along his lips.

_He’s handsome,_ she thinks. _That’s irrelevant._

“I like nearly everything you make,” he says.

“Yeah, nearly. Not those first drafts.”

“I’ll never live those emails down, will I?”

It almost sounds like a tease—is he teasing? He’s smiling, and that’s enough to punch her throat. Teasing and smiling together is such an impossibility, it feels as though she’s stepped through a rift into another reality.

_He’s human, remember,_ she thinks, and she feels his heat, much more blistering than minutes ago. She smells his cologne. It’s a fresh tang, like clothes right out of the dryer. Like summer morning dew. Faint and mild, but distinct enough to know that it must be him.

“Not for a while, Mr. Strife,” she says, and her voice comes out weak and quiet. She breaks her gaze away from him, and her eyes catch on the tablet’s digital clock.

“It’s after five,” she says.

Cloud follows her gaze, but he doesn’t move away. “Fifteen after. I lied to you. I’ve kept you overtime.”

His tone remains different. It’s not gentle, but it’s close.

She smiles. “Oh, it’s fine. You’re paying me enough to work twenty-four-seven.”

He glances at her again, and his eyes hook on her lips. Her skin feels as though it’s quaking from how abruptly her heart is racing.

“I hope you don’t feel I’m working you too…hard,” he says.

Tifa’s eyes fall to his lips. His cologne wraps around her in a relentless cradle, squeezing her like a fist. It suffocates her like the pour of honey—sharp, sweet, and slow.

“I can’t work hard enough,” she says under her breath. Her calf continues bumping his knee.

“You should have a life outside of this, too, Tifa,” he says, and his tone matches her own. She’s never heard it this way—quiet, a low rumble, tumbling against her like a secret.

“I do,” she says. “Do you?”

“I have a murphy bed in the corner of my office.”

He manages to make his quiet words dry. She hears the sarcasm in full this time. She smiles, but her throat is too tight to laugh.

“Workaholic, then?”

At this, she’s surprised and delighted at the pink blush that blooms over the ridge of his nose. “Haven’t found anything else to waste my time on.”

She tilts her head. “What do you want to waste your time on?”

His shoulders raise in a breath. His brows furrow as he stares at her, and his eyes are unfocusing, as if he’s contemplating something out of his reach. They are the color of a blue flame, flickering and soft and heated, holding onto the wick but desperate to jump and start a fire elsewhere.

“Other things,” he says, and it’s all that he’ll allow himself to admit.

“You need to find those things,” Tifa says, and she feels bold, suddenly. She feels the zap and the jolt, the careening and the chaos, her heart pounding so loudly it’s all she knows.

Something happens. The pressure of his knee builds against her calf. The charge is fierce. A battery is melting, somewhere. Her entire body is burning against the gaze of his blue eyes, under the blue flame of them, and it is as if she’s been hit with an acid spill.

It is one quick motion. He comes forward, and his mouth is on hers in a flurry, and the immediacy of it has Tifa gasping and tensing before her lips relax against his. Her eyes are open wide at the first touch, but they begin to close once her body realizes what’s happening. Her hands have minds of their own, on autopilot, coming up and grappling his shoulders. There’s a fluid, black heat filling up her stomach, instantaneously, dripping lower and lower into her core. It circulates through her with scary intensity. It mingles with the heat and charge, and his lips are too soft, matching the boyish lines of his face, and insistent, and blatantly straightforward. It is a pull in her stomach. She loses her breath. Her hands find their way to his neck, and her fingers fist into his hair as he sucks her bottom lip in between his teeth. He pushes into her, rolling forward enough so that his knees entrap her thighs, his hands on her hips. As blunt and forceful as the kiss is becoming—and it is _happening so fast_ —he handles her with care. His hands don’t leave her hips, digging into her just enough to secure her in place. His tongue runs along her lips, and he dips his tongue in and out of her, inching deeper and deeper until it settles so far into her, it erases any and all coherent thoughts that struggle to push into her mind. She can’t remember a time when someone kissed her so viciously or possessively or relentlessly. She sighs into it, and she feels his hands shudder.

It doesn’t last long enough. When they break away, they break away slow. Tifa stares at him. He stares back. 

The slow wave of reality crashes against her like a gentle tide. She takes her hands away from his neck. His hands drag away from her hips. 

Her heart continues thudding. _Thud. Thud. Thud_. How many beats of her life has she lost from this one kiss? From the last forty-five minutes sitting with him in this office?

A cold wash hits her, running over the gentle tide, because—because did she just _make out with her CEO?_

She stands. Dazedly, he stands, too.

“I’m—“ he tries. 

“I didn’t—“ she stutters. 

A banner of red crosses over his nose in a blush. It spreads into his cheeks. It takes him a moment to get a better handle on himself, and Tifa sees it in real time—his dazed vulnerability being shoved back into the deep folds of his bones.

“I’m—uh—that was unprofessional of me.”

Tifa hesitates. They are still standing close, hardly any space to separate them. Her adrenaline is on an IV drip. _Thud, thud, thud._ There goes her life. 

“I’m—I don’t…” she attempts.

She takes a step back, then another, her mind screaming again for her to _run._ Her heart reverberates in her to _stay._ She’s unable to move any further. 

“I—I understand if you…if this requires you to file a complaint to HR. I’m…not sure what came over me. I apologize.”

He’s cocooned himself, again. He is no longer a human but a mechanical creature, tightening his screws and securing his metal plating.

An irrational anger spikes against Tifa’s chest. 

“I was unprofessional, too. It wasn’t just you. I—“

“There’s no need to take any blame, Tifa. I lost my…”

_Mind,_ Tifa finishes. 

“Composure,” he states. “It won’t happen again.”

The anger perpetuates. Why is she so angry? She clenches her stomach and tries to push it out of her. 

“…why would I go to HR?” she asks.

“I would think the reasoning is obvious,” he answers. She looks at him, but he’s stone, again. All blank and apathetic.

How can he do that? She wonders. How can he turn himself off? 

“I’m not going to go to HR, Mr. Strife. And that you think I would, now, after I—I—“ _kissed you back_ —“is telling enough, isn’t it?”

Cloud opens his mouth and hesitates. He almost comes back to himself, she can see it. At least, she thinks she can, and she hopes that’s what she’s seeing, but he says nothing. Eventually, Tifa sighs and shakes her head. She reaches across the space, and she brushes against him as she grabs her tablet. 

“I need to go. It’s 5:30,” she says stiffly. “You’ve kept me long enough, haven’t you?”

Quietly, he says, “Yes, I believe I have.”

She looks at him one more time, and his eyes are impenetrable. Brilliant sapphires in his skull—beautiful, but hard and lifeless. 

She turns on her heel and strides out the door. She closes it roughly behind her. Her lips tingle like she licked an electrical outlet. Her skin hums like static.

She hates that she doesn’t hate it. In fact, stewing in her anger and her frustration at his answering apathy—at seeing him enclose himself from his mistake— _their_ mistake—she is mad that she’s so…so…

Afraid. Attracted. Attracted and afraid.

When she gets back to her apartment, the handful of time that they pressed their lips together is the only thing she can think about. It haunts her until her mind allows her to be taken into an uneasy slumber.

And yet, s leep betrays her, still, because she dreams.

She floats between an alternate reality, that rift she had felt in the office, her vision blurred around the border with smudged, white edges. She stands in front of Cloud’s expansive window pane, taking up the entirety of the back wall of his office. Midgar is covered in a light dusting of fog, and she can feel the chill of the dawn, the sun not yet above the horizon. The incomplete glow refracts into the fog, and the city is gilded with a sheen of gold. Tifa’s breath hits the window, condensing and fading.

Cloud’s behind her, his chest hovering before her back. The inch of air between them is a cushion of heat, and she wants nothing more than to press into it, to feel the collision of her back into the wall of his chest.

She can’t move. She’s frozen, staring at Midgar below them.

“You wanted to speak with me?” Cloud asks, his words hitting her ear in a puff. She smells his cologne again. It smells like the warm summer sun beating down on a grassy hill. He smells like midday heat.

“Yes,” dream Tifa says. “What do you want to do with me?”

His hands fall around her hips and he edges forward. The hard length of his body presses and lines against her, and she suddenly realizes she’s wearing an indecently short pencil skirt, her stockings, and a bra. There is a distant niggle that this isn’t how she should be dressed, but it is suffocated by the fabricated normalcy of the dream.

“I’m no good at talking,” he says, his voice a raspy, confident, smug rumble. They vibrate through his chest. “Let me show you.”

His tongue hits the soft skin under her ear. One hand trails up from her hip to the underside of her breast before bypassing the bra, flicking blunt fingers across the pucker of her nipple. The other slips down to the bare skin available between her skirt and her stockings. He presses fingers into her inner thighs before pushing her skirt up higher and higher.

Then she _feels_ him against her bottom. His length is hard, and he’s—

One finger teases between her underwear and the juncture of her leg. Her stomach tightens and curls, and she is burning up like dry paper. She’s on the edge—he hasn’t _touched_ her yet, and she’s trying to quell the unstoppable twisting that builds and builds.

That one finger slips underneath her underwear, hitting and pressing delicate, wet skin _once._ Her legs tremble, and the power of orgasm rocks over her.

“I told you our company couldn’t lose you,” he says. “I couldn’t lose you.”

His voice sounds like there’s a smile bordering the words. She wants to see it so badly, because it is an extraterrestrial thing, something spawned off this world and on another, because how can it exist here on this planet, how can it fit so well on his face—deep, cerulean eyes crinkling along the sides, lips stretched wide, teeth white and shining? She almost comes again at the thought.

“Oh, Cloud,” she moans.

“Come visit me, again,” he answers her, but she feels his body fading away. “Let’s waste time, together.”

He’s gone, and she continues standing there, staring out the window.

Tifa jolts awake. Her heartbeat thunders between her legs, her pillow clamped by her thighs, gently rubbing against her. She’s on the edge—but did she actually…

She hasn’t had a wet dream in…she catches her breath, waiting for the thunderous, sensitive beating to pass. Has she ever?

_I couldn’t lose you._

_Let’s waste time, together._

She runs her palms over her sweaty face. It was one kiss. One stupid, reckless, _wonderful_ kiss.

She’s not sure if she’ll survive this.

* * *

She arrives to her office the next day at 7:30 am. She went on a morning run. She went through her Tae Kwon Do routine. She showered, dressed, ate breakfast, manually washed dishes—all before work.

She couldn’t sleep past 4:00 am. She kept thinking about _Cloud Strife._ She kept thinking about the _kiss._ She kept thinking about how _stupid this all is._

She wanted to exhaust her body enough to exhaust her mind, but it continues to whirr incessantly as if she’s plugged into the mako energy of the planet itself. 

She decides to change her ensemble for the day. Instead of a skirt, she wears a black business dress. It is belted and streamlined and it hugs her, but it is conservative. The fabric stretches just enough to remain breathable, and it ends at mid calf. Tifa doesn’t wear it often, but she needs to change something to give her some semblance of… _peace._

She settles into her desk and pulls up the myriad projects. She’s made a list of deadlines for herself for each one, and she opens them up according to the timeline. She opens up the attachment Cloud sent her of Rufus Shinra, and she stares at his picture for a moment, attempting to color in the lines of his character.She begins thinking about her conversation with Cloud, and how his jaw buckled and hesitated, and how he relented when she asked him to tell her his opinion. He _caved._ It hadn’t been difficult—not nearly as difficult as she had previously imagined.

She pauses her work, shuffling through her inbox, and pulls up one of his old emails to reread. To remember how ruthless it was.

But the sting it holds for her is gone. She can see Cloud Strife behind the words of the email—can see his hardened gaze but hear his softened words— “Not to discourage you, but to remind you.”

She clicks out of it with more force than she intends, and she pulls up Shiva and Ifrit. She’s spent so much time on Shiva, and she’s _too blue._ She crops out Ifrit and begins to drown herself in the angry, violent sweeps of red, orange, and deep, ochre brown.

Before she knows it, the clock is edging toward noon. Not hungry, she continues working. She’s blaring music in her ears, one of her favorite symphonic arrangements, and she’s now almost made the entire body of Ifrit when she only needs the head. _Might as well finish it,_ she thinks, color blocking and shading.

Because of the music in her ears, she hardly registers the knock on her door. At first she thinks it’s her imagination, but once they grow louder, she takes off one of her headphones. She glances at the time. It’s Thursday. She didn’t receive an email. She visits with Reeve after lunch. Frowning, she says, “Come in.”

She finishes one last line before she glances up to see Cloud Strife in her doorway. 

“Miss Lockhart,” he says, halfway through the threshold. He looks…out of place. Out of his natural habitat. Her office is very different than his own, much less severe and softer with colors and decoration. Him standing there, wearing all black—black suit jacket, black tie, black, shining dress shoes—he looks like an ominous specter. “May I talk to you?”

Her shock at his presence keeps her from answering immediately. She takes off her headphones completely, staring at him. 

“I…yes. You may.”

She stands from her desk. She has a few chairs, but she’s pushed them up against the wall off to her left. She usually plans for meetings. It’s unnecessary to grab them, so she comes to stand in front of her desk, crossing her arms and waiting for him. He closes her office door behind him, and he takes a few steps inside, standing about five feet from her. 

“I was going to email you, but…” he starts, holding her gaze for a moment before looking off to the right. He pushes his hands into his pant pockets. “I wasn’t sure what your answer would be.”

“Afraid I would reject meeting with you?” she asks. Drawing Ifrit has spiked her boldness. And after yesterday—she’s not sure anything could faze her anymore. 

He looks back to her. A small, wry smirk pulls at his lips. 

“Yeah. Something like that.”

“Good to know a girl couldn’t scare away the CEO.”

He shifts his weight, the smirk remaining. “She almost did.” His chest heaves in a sigh. “Look, uh, Tifa, I’m here to discuss what happened in my office. Yesterday…”

“Was a mistake,” she finishes. 

When she says it, she notices the furrow of his brow. His lips fall into a line. 

“Like I said before, it was unprofessional. And…anything pertaining to a relationship in the same business office is against company protocol.”

“Yes. I know,” Tifa says. She places on hand on her hip. “Like I said, a mistake.”

Cloud hesitates. “I don’t…do that. I don’t…lose my composure.”

Tifa watches him. He looks as if he’s on unsteady ground. She wonders if his hands are fisted in his pockets, but the black thread of them makes it impossible to tell. 

“I know you don’t,” she says. 

“I don’t…allow myself to lose sight of what needs to be done,” he continues. He glances away from her. “I’ve never felt I needed…something else.”

Tifa blinks at him. She watches him as he tries to unravel himself in front of her. He’s trying to shed the cocoon, and Tifa is astonished. He’s standing in her office, unleashing one big _try._

Who is he? She wonders. 

Her dream hits her with a terribly timed force. _Let’s waste time, together._

“I understand this is against everything I’ve ever done. I know this is not how this is supposed to be,” he says. He glances back to her, his jaw sharpened again, like a knife gleaming in the moonlight. “I shouldn’t have…kissed you yesterday, and I _am_ sorry for breaking my professionalism. But I can’t be—“ he pauses. He stares at her. He takes a few steps forward. “I can’t be sorry for what happened.”

The hair prickles on her arms. She presses back into her desk, looking up at him. 

“You can't?” she asks.

“You can be mad at me—I expect you to be…something,” he says. “And I can’t expect anything from this, but—the real reason I’m here is to tell you that I want you.”

Tifa stares at him. Her blood pools in her stomach. His eyes are gleaming again—like sapphires—but they aren’t hard and lifeless. They swirl like there’s a spirit in them, and their intensity bulldozes her. 

“You…what?”

A smirk plays at his lips again, but this time they are sparked by something else. He takes another step forward. 

“I want you. And I hope after yesterday…I hope you want me, too.”

She takes a sharp breath. Staring up at him, the past few months ram and run through Tifa’s mind. All of her emotions she’s been unable to grasp together, each slipping through her hands, unattainable in their chaos. She thinks about acceptance, and how hard it is. She thinks about the peace she hasn’t felt in so long when once it had been so easy. She thinks about Zangan’s words: “You may be asked to do something you’ve always thought yourself incapable of doing.”

She thinks about death, and how life is a series of moments and tragedies, one after the other, all compiled against one another like building blocks.

Nothing about them has been conventional. It has been a strange, electrified three weeks learning not only about herself and her limits, but also learning about him—because against all odds, he is a human with a beating heart, and she wishes he wasn’t because it would make things so much easier.

_Easier._ She needs to stop thinking about easy. Nothing good is ever easy. Nothing _great_ is ever _easy._

And what will this be? she wonders as she pushes off her desk, as she closes the distance between them. What will this be?

“I want you,” she says.

Cloud’s eyes shift and they swirl. He stares at her, his eyes darkening with the shadow, now so much more prominent. The windows are now bare and cracking open. She must look wild, because she feels wild, her heart whipping like a wild horse bucking off the rider. As wild as she felt when she had her first meeting with him, when she did five hundred things she never thought she would do.

“Are you sure?” he asks her.

“I’m sure,” she answers, her voice thick. She hasn’t been so sure about something this whole year. She reaches up to grasp behind his neck and he reaches for her waist, slipping his hands around her. He pulls her in, and when their lips converge, it is erratic and fast. It is quick and messy. The certainty of want has evolved the depth of it, how instantly he invades her mouth. How abruptly her fingers thread through his hair.

_It’s soft,_ she thinks. _He doesn’t use hair gel. It sticks up all on its own._

She moans when his teeth graze against her lip. His breath settles into her pores.

He’s a ball of summer heat, and it pours over her like a warm rain shower. He runs his hands across her back. One of her palms falls to rest on his chest, slipping underneath the space of his suit jacket. The planes of him are hard and unforgiving, and she wants to know. She wants to know what he looks like underneath the shield of his suits and ties. Under the metal plating and screws.

He pushes her backwards toward her desk. Her bottom hits it and he lifts her on it, but her dress is too long to ride up on her thighs like her skirts. She feels a blunt rush of frustration, because she is heating up—burning—taut—and this is better than her dream of him.

His hands run up her back, and she thinks he might be finding the zipper, and she’s so turned on by the thought—the thought of Cloud Strife trying to unzip her—and his hands are fumbling and shaking in their desperation.

A knock cracks against her door. Tifa jumps at the rap, breaking apart from their kiss. Cloud, his face vulnerable and dumbfounded, takes a moment to regain his semblance of composure. Tifa wants to remember what he looks like this way, so gobsmacked and uncaring, as completely taken in the kiss as she was.

“Ms. Lockhart?” The door begins to open. “I had a quick question about—oh! Mr. Strife!”

In record timing, Tifa has stood and pressed her dress down on her thighs, running an hand through her hair to tame the flyaways. Cloud took about five long strides away from her, hands back in his pockets.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize you two were in a meeting!” the girl says. Her name is Rachael. She began as an intern, and now Tifa has placed her on one of the R&D rebranding teams. Tifa tries to smile at her, catching her breath.

“Not at all, Rachael,” she says, mildly breathy.

Cloud clears his throat. “It is fine. I was just leaving.”

With that, he glances back at Tifa, then makes his getaway out her door and into the hallway.

Tifa distractedly listens to Rachael, her mind following Cloud Strife down the hallway, back to his office. It is lucky, she thinks, that she isn’t wearing lipstick, today.

* * *

When Tifa is alone again, she locks her office door. She presses her back against it. She takes in a deep breath and exhales. She goes back to her desk and attempts to get back to work, but she continues to be…wound up. Taut. When she shifts in her chair, she nearly whimpers at the sensation.

It’s been fifteen minutes and she’s still _turned on._

She bangs her forehead one her desk in despair and annoyance. She groans. She stands up and paces and waits for the thrumming to subside. It’s a strange, delectable frustration. If she paces fast enough, the seam of her underwear rubs against her _just right_ and she covers her eyes with her hands and pauses her walk. She glances to her left. She has a personal office bathroom. It holds a toilet and a sink, a small four by four chunk of space. She thinks about it.

She’s already locked her office door, and she can go to the bathroom and lock it for extra protection. It might take her five—ten minutes at most. It would all depend on how much her imagination could take her. She closes her eyes and thinks about Cloud’s expression, the mixture full of wanting and vulnerability, which is the most she’s ever seen.

She shifts, and the sensation is unbearable. She groans again, and she wonders if he’s feeling as unbearable as she is. She wonders if she can simply email him and meet him in his office and—but—the mere thought of emailing Cloud Strife for _sex_ is insane in that it was so improbable but now, suddenly, it is one hundred percent _possible._

She eyes the clock. It's almost 1:00 pm, now. He'll be in meetings. He's always with someone or doing something important during the day. She doesn't think she can wait this out. She decides on impulse and stuffs herself into her small bathroom space. She locks the door.

She keeps the lights off. Before she can think too hard about what she’s going to do, she undoes the belt around her waist. Then she unzips the back of her dress, imagining his fingers trying to find the tiny, metal head of it—and his fingers had been _fumbling_. She exhales as she pushes the dress down enough to loosen in the front and drag her fingers down her navel. She bites her lip and hesitates for one second before pushing herself against the locked door, closing her eyes, and pushing her fingers below her underwear.

She remembers what Cloud’s tongue felt like running along the line of her lip, his cologne seeping into her skin. How dark and sharp he looked, dressed in all black.

_We were matching,_ she thinks, belatedly, gasping as she runs her fingers along her wet skin, slick and heady and taut. As she brushes against her arousal over and over, she jerks from the buzz of pleasure, and she can’t believe she’s doing this, thinking about Cloud Strife in her work bathroom—when, now, could she just arrive to his office and ask?—but the same thought makes this even hotter, makes her wind up tighter, because she never imagined she’d be offing herself in her own bathroom over the man who wrote her emails that made her _cry_ , with his ink stained eyes that now gleam like icy fractals, with his once emotionless, now penetrating stare that glimmers so much more when he gazes at her so intently, a stare that can unbutton her dress shirts and unzip her dress with the severity alone.

She imagines how his hardness felt in her dream. She deeply digs her fingers into her skin while she thinks about his length, shuddering against the door, her moan echoing in the small, cramped space. She runs her thumb over her clit, her legs shaking, and she envisions the lines of his body—how it must look underneath his dress shirts and his slacks, if he is truly married to gym equipment, if he is cut with a muscled abdomen and strong thighs and toned shoulders and capable _fumbling_ fingers as they slip inside of her messily and quickly and run along her clit like he’s unzipping _her,_ instead—

She breathes heavier. Her moans become louder. She feels it coming. It begins as a deep, trembling quake, slowly building, rising like a skyscraper, higher and higher and higher until it punctures the stratosphere.

She breaks in a moment, and she braces herself against both the door and the wall. Her legs are unable to keep her standing, weak with her release, and she slides down to the floor. The sheen of sweat covering her brow makes her dewy, and it takes her a few minutes to catch her breath. When her heartbeat settles and she opens her eyes, the dimness of the bathroom meets her. She can’t even feel embarrassed about this. Riding on the euphoria of her orgasm, the only thought she finds herself thinking is, _What would it have been like had it been his fingers instead of her own?_

She smiles a little, pushing her head back against the door.

At his words and the look on his face, she thinks she might know sooner rather than later.


	6. VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has been so awesome. Thank you, as always, for your support and comments and love! 
> 
> Warning: sexually explicit content from here on out.
> 
> Happy reading! Hope you enjoy!

The next Friday morning, Tifa receives an email from Cloud.

Ms. Lockhart,

Would you be able to change our meeting from 2:00 pm to 4:00 pm? I have an impromptu afternoon meeting with Mr. Tuesti and Mr. Valentine, and I would like to dedicate ample time to go over your progress.

Regards,

Cloud Strife

Chief Executive Officer

SOLDIER CORP

Tifa tries not to perseverate over the words _dedicate ample time._ She glances at the time on her desktop. 8:03 am. She bites her lip and wonders if he’s been thinking about her as much as she’s been thinking about him for the past twenty-four hours. She flexes her fingers over her keyboard.

Mr. Strife,

4:00 pm works for me. Will this meeting go past 5:00 pm?

Sincerely,

Tifa Lockhart

Senior Executive Marketing Specialist

SOLDIER CORP

Ms. Lockhart,

I’ll do my best to be aware of the time. Do you have any previous engagements this evening?

Cloud Strife

Chief Executive Officer

SOLDIER CORP

Tifa begins to smile.

Mr. Strife,

I have nothing pressing to attend to this evening. As I said before, I will be sure all of our projects are finished by the deadline. I will stay after hours if need be.

Sincerely,

Tifa Lockhart

Senior Executive Marketing Specialist

SOLDIER CORP

Ms. Lockhart,

As always, I admire your dedication to your work. I promise I will not take up any more of your time than is absolutely necessary. With that being said, I look forward to meeting with you later today.

Cloud Strife

Chief Executive Officer

SOLDIER CORP

Tifa reads over his email, feeling a warmth beginning to spread in her stomach.

Mr. Strife,

Likewise.

Sincerely,

Tifa Lockhart

Senior Executive Marketing Specialist

SOLDIER CORP

As soon as she sends it, she almost laughs.

By the time noon rolls around, Tifa receives another email. It surprises her that it’s from Cloud, again, and she’s simultaneously annoyed and excited at the flip in her heart when she sees his name in her inbox.

Ms. Lockhart,

From one workaholic to another, I felt compelled to send this email to remind you that you cannot work at your best without eating. Take five minutes for lunch.

Cloud Strife

Chief Executive Officer

SOLDIER CORP

Tifa blinks at his email. She’s not sure if she should respond, but the gesture of it shocks her and plucks at her, strumming her heartstrings like a guitar. Who is he? She thinks for the thousandth time. She never thought he’d send a message so…thoughtful and egregiously out of his way. She glances down at her work and realizes she wasn’t going to stop for lunch at all.

Mr. Strife,

Thank you for the reminder. It is easy to forget the essentials when wrapped up in work, and I believe you understand that as well as I do. I hope you do the same. Eat something. As the CEO, I believe you might need it more than I do.

Sincerely,

Tifa Lockhart

Senior Executive Marketing Specialist

SOLDIER CORP

Ms. Lockhart,

If there is one thing I’ve learned from being CEO, it is that there is never enough time in a day. The clock conspires against us. Can you teach me how to make the days longer?

Cloud Strife

Chief Executive Officer

SOLDIER CORP

His rhetorical question makes her chuckle. She grabs her lunch from the break room and types out her answer.

Mr. Strife,

If I knew how to do that, I probably wouldn’t be working here. I’d be a millionaire elsewhere.

Sincerely,

Tifa Lockhart

Senior Executive Marketing Specialist

SOLDIER CORP

Ms. Lockhart,

Lucky for us then.

Cloud Strife

Chief Executive Officer

SOLDIER CORP

Tifa blushes at the email. She scoffs at the words and attempts not to stare at them. After a few minutes, she wants to reply but has no idea how to continue the thread. Eventually, she types the first thing that comes to mind.

Mr. Strife,

You’ll be pleased to know I finished my lunch today. I appreciate your reminder and your concern. I was surprised by your email, but I’m happy you sent it.

Sincerely,

Tifa Lockhart

Senior Executive Marketing Specialist

SOLDIER CORP

Ms. Lockhart,

Certainly. I can send them more often, if you’d like.

Cloud Strife

Chief Executive Officer

SOLDIER CORP

Tifa swallows at the words. They sound oddly…suggestive. But perhaps it’s only where her mind lingers. She sighs at herself, thinking of his kiss. Thinking of his cologne.

Mr. Strife,

I wouldn’t mind that. It might even be beneficial to me, knowing you care enough to send them.

Sincerely,

Tifa Lockhart

Senior Executive Marketing Specialist

SOLDIER CORP

Ms. Lockhart,

Noted. It will be a job I take very seriously.

Cloud Strife

Chief Executive Officer

SOLDIER CORP

Tifa has a mind to hear his email in his mildly sarcastic tone. He’s probably joking a little, but she can’t be sure. Regardless, she blushes either way.

Mr. Strife,

Not too seriously, I hope. You have enough on your plate without needing to worry about me.

Sincerely,

Tifa Lockhart

Senior Executive Marketing Specialist

SOLDIER CORP

Ms. Lockhart,

I always have room on my plate for you. But you’re wrong. I don’t worry because I don’t think you’d allow it.

Cloud Strife

Chief Executive Officer

SOLDIER CORP

Tifa bites her lip at his words. It’s strange how a few mere emails can increase the burning up her throat and the swirl of emotions in her stomach, swimming around madly like kids paddling in the deep end of a pool.

Mr. Strife,

You’re right. I don’t allow it. But the thought—and the gesture—is very kind.

Thank you.

Tifa Lockhart

Senior Executive Marketing Specialist

SOLDIER CORP

Ms. Lockhart,

I have a few things to finish before my meetings this afternoon, so I’ll discontinue bothering you with these emails. I look forward to our meeting later on today. Bring everything you’d like to discuss. 

Cloud Strife

Chief Executive Officer

SOLDIER CORP

She debates replying to him. She types out _They don’t bother me._ Then she decides against it.

Mr. Strife,

I look forward to it, as well. I’ll bring each project. I think you’ll like how we’ve begun incorporating the R and S to Mr. Shinra’s specifications.

Tifa Lockhart

Senior Executive Marketing Specialist

SOLDIER CORP

Ms. Lockhart,

I’m sure I will.

Cloud Strife

Chief Executive Officer

SOLDIER CORP

When Tifa arrives at Cloud’s office, she’s better prepared for Scarlet’s easy onslaught. Her hair is in it’s usual severe twist, her bangs softening the edges of her face. “Is it Friday, already?” she asks as she eyes Tifa.

“It is,” Tifa answers. “Any big plans for the evening?”

“Not as big as yours, I expect,” Scarlet says, her smile as sharp as a scythe. She picks up her phone. “A Miss Lockhart to see you, Mr. Strife.”

Tifa nearly blushes at Scarlet’s emphasis on the word _big._ Tifa’s hands clench on her tablet, but she doesn’t have a comeback ready before Scarlet nods toward the door. “He’s ready for you.”

Tifa hums her acknowledgement and passes her desk to the office doors. This time she doesn’t give an unnecessary knock, opening the doors and walking through.

“Mr. Strife?” she says, making her way to his desk and chairs.

“Tifa,” Cloud answers, seated behind his desk. He gestures to the chair she usually takes. “Come in.”

Tifa isn’t sure what she expected when she arrived. She wasn’t sure if it would be a passionate greeting, or more subdued, overshadowed by the required business and discussion their meeting was supposed to address. He watches her make her entrance, and she glances over him as she sits. He’s in a grey suit and a dark green button down underneath. He isn’t wearing a tie, and the top button is undone. It shows the briefest glimpse of his collarbone. Like before when his tie was absent, he seems incomplete—like he’s missing a piece of his armor. The undone button looks like an absurd miscalculation, as if he tugged at his collar all day and finally opened his shirt to breathe. Tifa’s eyes hook on it, because even the one button is uncharacteristic.

 _It’s not as if you actually know him,_ she argues with herself. It is difficult to remember she’s only met with him five times.

“How was your meeting?” she asks him, glancing up to make eye contact. He’s giving her a small smirk, and she has a mind to believe he knows exactly what she’s thinking.

“Informative,” he says. “We went over the quarterly finances and the predicted trends for the next quarter after the merger.”

“Sounds…right up your alley,” Tifa states lightly.

“I like to think so,” he says, still smirking. He turns towards his computer. “I’ve pulled up your attachments if you’d like to go over them.”

“Of course,” she says, opening the files on her tablet. “Which do you want to go over first?”

“Let’s start with the main rebranding.”

Tifa nods, pulling up the file. “I talked with Reeve—I mean, Mr. Tuesti about this yesterday. He seemed to like the idea of the placement of the R and S being in different areas for each department. We’ve been making it more subtle and less…”

“Obnoxious?” Cloud finishes. Tifa glances up to see him smiling, though it’s directed at his monitor.

“Yes…obnoxious. Do you think it’s too…vague?” she asks. “We started using the negative space for the shadow of the R and S, but you have to stare at it for a moment to see it.”

Cloud tilts his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “I like subtle. I’ll send it to Rufus and see what he thinks, but this might be an important exercise in compromising for him.”

Tifa begins smiling as Cloud glances over to her. Her smile inspires one of his own. “What?”

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head. “You just…really don’t like him, do you?”

Cloud gives a small shrug. “He’s fine. I’ll never get along with him, but I don’t get along with most, anyway.”

Tina twirls her electronic pen between her fingers. “Why not?”

He opens his mouth, but he hesitates. “Never have, that’s all. Uh, so the main rebranding,” he starts, redirecting the conversation. “Keep it and finish what you wanted. Once you do, I’ll send it to Rufus. I’ll keep you in the loop with his response.”

“Great. Thank you,” she answers. “Maybe he won’t be so disagreeable.”

“Maybe,” he hedges, sounding very skeptical.

“You never know,” Tifa says, beginning to smile again. “He might surprise you. People tend to do that.”

Cloud watches her for a moment. She almost starts to blush, attempting to will it away under his stare. “Sometimes.”

They look at one another for a quiet minute. It is free and unrestrained, and it makes Tifa sit up straighter in her chair. She’s emboldened to glance down at his unbuttoned collar again, glimpsing at the golden divot of skin against the forest green of his shirt.

Tifa takes in a breath and glances down at her tablet. “So, the next thing…”

Cloud clears his throat. “Right. The next thing.”

They go over five other logos and signs, Tifa explaining the idea behind each one, how the team members were faring, and the projected timeline, along with the positioning of the essential R and S around each design.

This time, Cloud critiques the engineering department’s design, suggesting harsher lines and sharper edges. Tifa writes it into her annotations, along with _darker colors_ and _brighter accents._

“I believe I promised earlier I wouldn’t keep you any longer than necessary, this time,” Cloud says once they finish the last project. “It’s 5:00.”

Tifa bites the inner meat of her lip. “I told you I’d stay as long as necessary to cover everything we required.”

“And I…appreciate that,” Cloud says softly, watching her again. Tifa takes a deep breath. Cloud clicks something on his computer and goes to stand. Tifa does the same.

“If you’d like to stay a little longer,” he says, walking around to the front of his desk. “I’d, uh, like to go over a few more things.”

Tifa almost smiles, but the flutter of sudden nerves and heat grips her stomach. “What few things are those, Mr. Strife?”

He wavers before he settles against the edge of his desk. “It’s…after hours, Tifa. Call me Cloud.”

 _Cloud._ The only time she’s called him by his first name was in her dream of him. Her cheeks flare immediately at the thought of it.

“Okay…Cloud.”

It feels like insubordination, somehow. Tifa calls everyone else by their first names, so this shouldn’t be any different. But who can say they call their _boss,_ their _boss’s boss,_ by their first name? It feels like a sin as soon as it passes her lips. It feels like she’s breaking a penultimate rule. Her heart beats with a ponderous rhythm, and his eyes are on her mouth like fish trapped in a net. She sees the strong column of his throat bob in a swallow before he jerks his eyes away.

“If you give me a moment,” he says gruffly, pushing off his desk and striding to the door. He turns the lock. Tifa breathes out a laugh, but it sounds like a strangled gasp to her ears. When he makes his way back to her, he shakes his head. “Don’t want that to happen, again. I barely survived yesterday.”

The growl of his admittance makes her toes curl in her heels. He stops right in front of where she stands, and his cologne drills into her nostrils.

“Me, too,” she whispers. She slowly reaches up and lets her palms rest on his shoulders. At the contact, she realizes how taut he is, strung up like a bow. He allows his hands to rest on her hips.

“You haven’t changed your mind?” he asks her.

She stares up into his face, shocked at how gentle he is, the only sharp thing about him the line of his jaw and the grumble of his voice. There is a surprise every time she sees him, unraveling each hidden box, shredding the paper that shelters him.

“No,” she answers, voice shuddering. One of her hands slips down from his shoulder to his chest. Her finger taps the button underneath his collar, and she feels the expansion of his breath.

“Good,” he says, gripping her hips tighter. He pulls her closer into a kiss, meshing their lips together easily. She brings her hands behind his neck, tugging at the soft, wild locks of his hair. She moans as her breasts push against the robust expanse of his front. His hand squeezes her hip and then falls to her ass, cupping her with generous palmfuls, and Tifa moans at the sensation. When he pushes her closer, she can already _feel_ him, hard and lengthy and willing. It is a pleasure. She’s never felt him before like this, and her heart is sprinting, pounding between her legs like a hammer. _This is insane,_ she thinks. _Insane and wonderful._

Their kiss turns into a tangle, messy and slick, and Tifa hears herself pant. Cloud’s groan is guttural as he turns her toward the desk. Her nails dig into the nape of his neck for dear life, and he bites her lip softly, contradicting the harshness of his growl and the deep press of his fingertips into her bottom.

When the backs of her legs hit the desk, his lips trail down to her neck. His teeth run along the line of her skin, and she’s nearly embarrassed by the moan that comes out of her, because it’s so _loud_ and free, unthinking and unexpected. Her head lolls to the side, and his tongue roves over the juncture of her neck and shoulder. She feels the wet heat of his mouth, and she wants it all over her body—on her breasts, on her stomach, on her hip, right along the seam of her thighs.

“Cloud,” she inhales sharply, his name coming out in a gasp. His grip on her tightens, and he pushes her further back onto the desk. His hands bunch up the bottom of her pencil skirt.

“Do you know how much I want you?” he asks her, and he kisses her again, his fingers finding the fine net of her stockings, tugging them down. Tifa can feel him pulling at the threads and wonders if they’re ruined. _I have so many others,_ she thinks, uncaring. The thought of them ripping gives her a jolt of immense satisfaction.

She opens her eyes to watch him, his lips inches from her own. She runs her fingers through his hair, clawing at his scalp, and his eyes become half-lidded. 

“How much?”

He pushes his hands up her thighs, letting them roam over her bared skin, past the skirt and to the thin line of her underwear. She realizes how desperately she’s aching when his fingers press into her hips, when his thumbs hook under the band.

“Let me show you,” he says under his breath. The words ricochet into her mind. They stab into her skin.

They are the words from her dream. _Let me show you._ Had her dream been a premonition? She thinks wildly. She can’t fathom it. She can’t believe he uttered those words. Her tender flesh zings, and as he pulls down her underwear, he’s watching her with dark blue eyes. Her heart is in her throat while she stares back. He slides them down to where her stockings hang on her legs and then off her legs completely—and she sees her stockings _are_ ruined. A handful of threads dangle around her calves. He takes no time when he rubs a thumb along her wet skin, pushing into the middle of her folds. She leans all the way back at the sensation, moaning and moaning. “Oh. _Oh_.”

He begins a continuous pace against her, his thumb an unyielding pressure, and her back arches. One hand clenches at his hair and the other tries to find purchase on his desk. The computer is on the far right side of the desk, but she doesn’t notice anything else. Her eyes close. She hits something that falls to the floor with a _thunk._ Her face pinches, and she hears herself say, “Oh, I’m sorry,” while her left leg bends up and her heeled foot finds the ledge of the table. Any other time, she’d be embarrassed. She might be ashamed by how she’s allowing herself to be so sprawled in front of him, at his mercy. But his passion incites her. It inspires her. She feels too good to care, and he’s hitting her so well, as if he already knows her body, as if he’s already figured everything out.

“You’ll need to reimburse me for that,” he states, his voice raspy, edged, and _different._ She opens her eyes to look at him, and he’s staring at her with his lips shining from their kisses, his eyes peeling her apart like a piece of fruit. A flush is creeping up his neck, and he is just as crazed as she is. It jolts her again, and she feels herself clench against his thumb. It unrelentingly caresses her, and the air in her feels thick and heavy. It’s better than the sensation of _unzipping_ her, she thinks. It feels like he’s ripping her like the stocking, and she whispers, “Cloud, please.”

“Please, what?” he says, and she sees how his eyes gleam with power. It’s a knife to her stomach, and she can’t come, now. She can’t, not yet, not when it just started.

_Not yet._

She reaches a hand for his pant belt. She misses, and he slides a finger into her when she does. “Oh,” she moans, again, spots floating in her vision. “Come here. I…you…”

“You’re so wet,” he says, and he leans over to kiss her throat. “So tight.” He pushes his finger up and forward inside of her, and the spots he’s hitting are disastrous. She seizes deeply.

“Gaia,” she whimpers. “ _Cloud.”_

She pushes off his suit jacket with clumsy force, and it falls off one arm. Her hands shake as she tries to undo the elusive buttons on his shirt. She groans in both frustration and pleasure while he pushes into her, and she sees him smile at her fumbling, and it makes her clench again. Giving up on the buttons for a moment, she pulls him forward into a kiss, then she kisses his jaw and his neck, anywhere she can reach.

He strokes her longer and harder before he takes his fingers away, and she almost whines in protest. He quickly unzips the side of her skirt and lifts her bottom up, so much more precise than the previous day. He peels the piece off her and throws it to the side in a manic rush. The stockings stay bunched at her calves. Tifa would have smiled had she not been feeling the same sense of urgency. She attempts to unbuckle his belt, and he watches her as she does, his chest expanding with labored breaths while he peels off the rest of his jacket. It takes her two tries to unbutton his pants, and one quick pull to undo his zipper. She tugs at his shirt. “Take it off,” she says, voice high in delicate anguish. He does as he’s told, all but pulling his shirt apart, forgoing individually undoing each button. Tifa presses her palm into his skin as soon as it’s visible, gasping as she drags her fingers over him. When she does, he leans forward to undo her own buttons, and Tifa’s mind goes red. _There are too many buttons,_ she thinks. As soon as enough of them are done, she pulls the rest of the shirt over her head and throws it to find her skirt. He stares at her, eyes falling to her breasts, eyes dark and full of nothing but glazed over desire—it is so potent, Tifa nearly gasps at the intensity, as sharp as icicles but as molten as melting glass.

“I have condoms in my desk,” he states, suddenly, and Tifa almost moans again at the responsibility. Can he be anymore…anymore…attractive?

“Don’t need it,” she breathes, leaning forward to kiss him, roaming her hands along his torso and reaching toward his waistline. “Birth control.”

He huffs when she finds him, gripping his length in her hand. He reaches behind her to unclasp her bra. Her skin is so heated, she doesn’t feel the chill of the desk as he goes to stand between her legs, pushing her down until she’s lying back across the wood. She hears him shove his slacks down, and she props herself on her elbows to try to see him in all of his aroused glory, but he hovers over her and shrouds her vision.

“Wait, Cloud—“ she protests, but he reaches down between them, and he pushes his head against her clit. He rubs so gently and deliberately, Tifa is unable to keep her weight in her elbows, fully laying all the way back and grasping at the wood of the desk above her head. Cloud hisses, teasing their skin together for another arduous minute, and Tifa sees stars. It is just like a kiss—the smallest contact of skin creating the most powerful bliss.

He slides down and readies himself before her, wrapping his arms around her thighs like handholds. When he pushes into her, the pressure is splendid and welcome. It is such an easy thing, and he keeps pushing and pushing until he’s touching her in that divine portion of her body. _He’s big_ , she thinks nonsensically. _This is amazing._

“Fuck,” he grunts, the word quiet. It sounds like a confession ripping through the air. Tifa moans in response, welcoming him with deep clenching. He grunts lowly and briefly at the sensation, and she watches how his jaw tightens, the muscle bunching. He starts slow with his thrusts, his fingers digging into the sides of her thighs. Again and again and again, the slowness a desperate incline, a building ache. One of her hands reaches up to her head, tangling into her hair and imagining it in his own, because he’s too far away from her to grip. His eyes are glazing over, watching her expression as she watches his. She bites her lip so hard at the severity of his stare, and his pace begins quickening. Her nails press into the finish of the desk, her other hand falling to her breasts. She’s burning up. This is the slowest implosion she’s ever experienced.

“Oh—I’m—oh,” she mutters unintelligibly. She can’t stop watching him. The afternoon light glances off his blond spikes like a golden halo. She sees the sheen of sweat glowing on his brow while it’s pinched in concentration. His chest flexes with his thrusts. _He’s handsome._

He shifts his grip, moving her calves to rest on his shoulders, his hands gripping her hips. He leverages her up, and at the change in angle—how can he get any deeper? She cries out. He presses into her, harder and harder, and her moans become freer. Her pants are louder. She wants to scream, but she claws at the desk, needing all of him, wanting to run her hands over his rippling chest and his biceps, all of him bare and taut, creasing from the pleasure created between them.

“Cloud,” she whimpers.

“Goddamn,” he says, hoarse, his voice breaking. Her closeness rises exponentially at the sound of it. “Shit—Tifa.”

His vulgarity is unrestrained and vulnerable. It hits a switch inside her that increases her blood pressure, and she’s going to unravel.

“I’’m—I—“ she tries, and she must shut her eyes because it’s becoming _too much._

“What do you need?” he asks roughly.

“This,” she answers. “This is it.”

She feels one of his hands leave her hip, and she opens her eye to see him lick a finger. He keeps up the pace, and then he pushes that finger along her clit, the bundle of nerves in shock at the tension. She presses her legs harder into his shoulders, and she keens. “Yes,” she breathes. “That. Oh, Cloud.”

It only takes a few more thrusts until she’s thrown over. It hits her suddenly, like a windshield cracking under a change in pressure. The crack turns into a shatter, and her heels dig into his shoulders, her back arching uncontrollably. Her hands grip along anything she can reach, and she finds the neck of the computer monitor and the blunt edges of the desk.

She rides out her orgasm with the last few thrusts he gives her. She feels his hips tremble against her, and her calves begin to lose the tension and the force against his shoulders.

They remain there, in the afterglow of heavy breathing and relief, for a long, dazed few minutes. She feels Cloud leave her, and she lowers her legs from his shoulders. He continues to stand between her legs, and he leans over her and kisses her. It is slow and long and unassuming, and Tifa begins to feel the relief of their orgasm becoming restless, again, like the rustling of wind in a forest. When they break away, he looks down on her with the soft gaze of release. She reaches up to outline his jaw with her fingers.

“Let’s do this more often,” he says, voice a crackly rumble.

“Okay,” she says back, body limp and mind fuzzy. He stands and helps her up from the desk, and they’re standing beside one another, almost completely naked. A flush rushes up to Tifa’s face, but she doesn’t care, instead allowing her eyes to rove over him. She has a mind to think he blushes underneath her unabashed observation, but it might be from their previous exertions.

“I have a bathroom…if you’d like to…” he starts.

“Yes,” she says, aware of the stickiness growing between her legs. “I’ll use it. Thank you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course,” he mumbles, walking around to help gather her clothes. “Um, I’m sorry about…” he gestures to the stockings, still torn up around her ankles. She laughs lightly.

“Don’t worry. I have plenty.”

His strange bashfulness suddenly evaporates, and he gives her a smirk. “Be careful. I might rip all of them.”

She gives him a playful smile. “Why? Do you not like them?”

“No, I like them,” he says, and Tifa raises her brows at how quickly he says it. Sheepishly, he turns his head. “I mean, how you wear them…they look good.”

“Oh,” she says softly. “Then maybe I’ll keep wearing them during our meetings.”

His cheeks redden furiously, though he smiles at her. “I hope you do.”

She presses her skirt and shirt against her chest, but she lets her eyes linger on his naked form. She breathes out a sigh and turns toward the bathroom.

“You’ll have to wait and see.”

She goes to the bathroom and shuts the door, cleaning herself up and redressing. She thinks for a moment about going back out naked, kissing him ravenously, and performing another round. She decides against it when she realizes the time.

When she emerges from the bathroom, Cloud is mostly dressed, in the middle of buttoning up his shirt. He’s frowning at a few of the holes, and Tifa notices that he’s missing a few buttons.

“I’m good at sewing,” she says, walking toward his desk. “I can fix that for you if…you need.”

He glances up to her, and he smirks. “I might take you up on that.”

Tifa looks at the desk again and blushes. They’ve left evidence of their sex—not limited to a dent in the corner from Tifa’s heel and the items that she pushed off the desk. His keyboard and mouse are on the floor, a few of the keys broken off and scattered on the tile.

“I guess I do have to reimburse you,” she says, her voice quiet with her embarrassment.

Cloud leans over and picks them up, placing them on the desk. “No, you don’t. I was joking. I’ll grab another one this weekend.”

She bites her lip, but he comes up to her. “It’s okay, Tifa, don’t worry about it.”

She puts a hand up to the side of her face and sighs. “Sorry, I’ve never broken anything before during…”

Cloud smiles at her. “I’ll take these things as a good sign. Your stockings. My keyboard. My shirt.”

She utters a surprised laugh. He shocks her again by coming up to gently kiss her. 

Cloud ends up walking her out to the elevator. It almost feels like a date, in reverse, though neither broach the topic of what it is between them. For now, Tifa doesn’t mind it, because she’s still not sure what she can call it besides an affair with her boss. And the word _affair_ is both electrifying and…unpleasant in its connotation. But the way he eyes her is anything _but_ unpleasant, and Tifa wants to ride this out between them for as long as she can.

“Any weekend plans?” she asks him as they arrive to the doors.

“Just the normal,” he says. “What about you?”

“Same as you,” she answers, smiling.

The elevators ding, and the metal doors shutter open.

“Well,” she says, facing him for a brief moment. “Have a great weekend. I’ll see you.”

He opens his mouth and hesitates, but all he says is a farewell. “Yeah. You too. I’ll see you.”

The doors close between them, and Tifa leans against the walls of the elevator, trying to retain the strength in her legs. She already knows she’ll dream about him, tonight, his voice cracking, uttering _fuck_ and _goddamn_ and imagining the glazed look in his gleaming blue eyes as he dropped all the pieces of his armor, as he came inside of her, and as he confessed her name like a dagger piercing her skin.


	7. VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your comments and love and support! You are all rockstars. I'm so happy you are enjoying it as much as I am writing it. 
> 
> ENDLESS THANK YOUS AND LOVE for my beta on this chapter, [kotaface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aveyune23/pseuds/kotaface). Without her, this chapter would not be what it is, and I am forever grateful for her and her wonderful input. Thanks for putting up with me. I love you forever.
> 
> Warning: mild angst, explicit sexual content

When Tifa gets home that Friday evening, she’s mostly recovered from having sex with Cloud Strife. She’s continuing to pinch herself that she’s _had_ sex with Cloud Strife. She briefly thinks about what the girls will say before she runs her shower, keeping it lukewarm, and letting it run over her for twenty minutes.

Once dried and in her pajamas, Tifa sits on her bed and grabs her phone, the high from the office sex tumbling out of her and a somber pull creeping along her chest to take its place.

Every time she calls her dad, it feels like a heavier weight. Each week that passes, each time she feels as though she’s failed him, the angrier she gets.

She steels herself and hits his name on her phone. He answers on the third ring.

“Hey, sweet pea,” he answers.

“Hey dad,” she says.

“How was work this week?”

She wants to laugh absurdly at the question.

“It was…fine. Busy like always, but we’re making good headway with the merger.”

“That’s wonderful, Teef. I’m not surprised. You always work so hard. How’s what’s his name?”

 _What’s his name_ is Cloud, of course. Her dad knows how much grief he’s put her through. Sometimes he’ll call him _Clown_ or _Claude_ or any other C name that isn’t _Cloud,_ mostly because it started out as a joke between them months ago. Now, it’s his normal rib at him, and Tifa loves him dearly for it.

And she’ll never tell him that she had sex with him on his office desk.

“He’s…actually, he’s a lot better. You know how I told you we came to an agreement? He’s…stuck to it.”

“Sounds like he’s finally doing his job,” her father says, a bit dryly. Tifa laughs.

“Yeah. He’s surprised me.”

“I always thought he was too young for the position.”

“I did, too. Not…anymore,” Tifa admits.

“That’s good, Teef. I would still like to come up there and pull his head out of his ass and give him a piece of my mind.”

Tifa shakes her head, smiling slightly. “I know you do, dad. How is everything in Nibelheim?”

“Oh, the same. Running well. My second in command is in charge while I go through chemo.”

Her father is the mayor of the town. It’s one of the reasons he cites when he tells her he can’t come to Midgar, even though he’s already deferring all responsibility to his assistant.

“How is the chemo? Are you maintaining any energy at all?”

“Some days are better than others,” he says. “Overall, I can’t complain.”

 _Yes, you can,_ she thinks. _It isn’t fair it chose you._

She’ll never understand it. As many advances that the planet has undergone, as much technology they make and engineer and create, they still haven’t figured out a way to correct the malignancies of the human body.

As if hearing her thoughts, she hears him sigh. “Now, Tifa, don’t be sad. The doctors are wonderful. They take good care of me.”

“You’d get better treatment here in the bigger city,” she argues.

It’s a tired argument. Tifa’s always angry at herself for bringing it up, but she can’t help herself. She wants him near her. It isn’t enough to hear his voice between her ear and the phone. She wants to hug him every day.

She doesn’t want him to leave her.

“That is a debate for another day, darling. What will you do this weekend?”

They move on to the other topics—how the girlfriends are doing, how Aerith’s business is thriving, how Yuffie is getting (or not getting) along with her father, and how Jessie is still finding her big breakthrough role.

She talks about Zack, whom Aerith adores. She talks about Jessie’s tumultuous love life, because she vows she’ll “never get married,” and she discusses Yuffie’s struggle to become her own person outside of her father’s shadow.

When they finally end their conversation, he says, “I love you, Tifa. We will talk again, soon, okay?”

Every time they end this way, Tifa’s eyes line with thin tears, feeling the skin around her eyes pucker.

“I love you, too, dad. We’ll talk soon.”

When they hang up, she runs her palm roughly across her eyes, then gets up from her bed to busy herself with the methodical process of dinner.

* * *

On Saturday afternoon, Tifa receives texts in her group message from her girlfriends. She’s in the middle of working in her apartment office when she gets the first one from Aerith.

 **Aerith:** _Hello, ladies. Life update. How was the work week?_

Yuffie responds first.

 **Yuffie:** _It was fine. Nothing to report besides Godo being an ass, what’s new._

 **Jessie:** _Just a lot of rehearsals, but it all seems to be coming together. Only two more weeks until opening night!_

Tifa responds last. She thinks about how she’ll break the news. Her fingers hover over the letters before she decides.

 **Tifa:** _It was good._ _Asshole_

Tifa feels strange typing out the name for him. It feels archaic, now, all of a sudden. It doesn’t match. She backspaces.

 **Tifa:** _It was good. Strife has been_

Tifa stops again, backspacing.

 **Tifa:** _Work has been really busy, but I would love to chat with all of you guys. There’s too much to talk about over text._

It doesn’t take long for them to bulldoze her with questions.

 **Yuffie:** _“Too much to talk about” Teef, what does that even MEAN?_

 **Jessie:** _OMG. Does it mean what I want it to mean._

 **Aerith:** _Has Asshole kept his word? Has he been treating you well?_

Tifa begins typing out her response, but Jessie beats her to it.

 **Jessie:** _If by “treating you well” you mean harassing her with suggestive looks and eye fucking, then I absolutely hope so._

Tifa nearly begins snorting, having to put down her phone for a moment.

 **Tifa:** _He’s been showing me that he’s a real human being. He cares about my work, and we’ve been getting along well._ Really well, she wants to type, but she doesn’t.

 **Jessie:** _If by “getting along well” you mean doing the dirty in the office…_

 **Yuffie:** _LMAO JESSIE_

 **Aerith:** _A real human being, you say? I knew it. Cloud Strife, aka no longer an asshole._

 **Tifa:** _I’m as shocked as you are._

 **Yuffie:** _I cannot WAIT for story time. Brunch? Tomorrow?_

 **Jessie:** _Yes, please. I need a bloody mary. And all of you guys._

 **Aerith:** _Brunch!!! Yes! Would it be okay if Zack came, too? Tonight is date night, and he usually stays over, and he loves mimosas._

Tifa feels her stomach curl. If she declines Zack’s presence, then they’ll immediately _know._ They’ll know everything. They’re too in tune with her words and her habits. She sighs, waiting and contemplating for a moment, before finally texting the final words.

 **Tifa:** _Actually…I need it to be just you girls._

It takes three milliseconds for the replies to file in.

 **Aerith:** _OMG I KNEW IT. I KNEW IT._

 **Yuffie:** _Dear Leviathan you have sinned haven’t you omg TEEF_

 **Jessie:** _I need to know every single detail you sexy slut._

Tifa begins laughing.

 **Tifa:** _I still can’t really believe what happened this week._

 **Yuffie:** _Omg I am so glad tomorrow is Sunday_

 **Jessie:** _You’re telling me_

 **Aerith:** _Teeefaaaaaa. Zack will be DEVASTATED, but I think I’ll be able to soothe him enough. ;)_

 **Tifa:** _Aerith! Hahaha_

They continue on for a little while longer before Tifa gets back to focusing on a few more work details, eventually breaking for the evening. She has a mind to wonder what Cloud’s doing on a Saturday night—if he’s home or if he goes out with other CEOs—or what CEOs even do in their free time—and is surprised to find that she would like to know.

The next morning, Tifa arrives at Seventh Heaven around 11:00 am. Yuffie is already there, and Jessie and Aerith arrive minutes later.

Once they get situated with their drinks, Tifa attempts to delicately confess what happened during the week.

“Tifa!” Yuffie screams, making a handful of the patrons startle or look over to their table. “He came to your office and told you he wanted you! You kissed in _both_ of your _offices!_ You call him _Cloud!”_

Aerith snickers, sipping at her mimosa. “I knew he’d lust after you like a dog. It took just one kiss, didn’t it?”

Jessie is nearly sprawling across the table, reaching for Tifa. “I am in love with your life, right now. I knew he was going to want you so badly.” She grins monstrously. “But that fact that he went to your office and _confessed?_ ” Jessie holds up her hands as if she’s praising the creator above. 

Tifa places her face in her hands, laughing with all of them. “I was channeling you guys the whole time.”

Yuffie wraps her arms around Tifa’s neck in a headlock. Aerith raises a hand to Jessie and high-fives her.

“You’ve done us proud, Lockhart,” Jessie says.

“So after Rebecca or whatever her name interrupted, did he begin to send you endless emails full of adoration?” Aerith asks, giggling profusely.

Tifa elbows Yuffie in her sides, and she squeaks and relents, letting her go.

“Not _adoration,_ ” Tifa says. “But he did start emailing me the next morning.”

As Tifa begins to tip toe along with her story, they all fall over again.

“Shut up,” Jessie says. “He wanted to _dedicate ample time?”_

“We know what that means,” Aerith winks.

“Did he rip your clothes off later?” Yuffie asks wildly, half joking and half serious.

Tifa bites her lip, trying to hold back her grin. Their amusement and chaotic pleasure they’re presenting at her story is infectious.

“No, he only ripped my stockings.”

Jessie chokes on her bloody mary. Aerith nearly screams. Yuffie flings her arms around Tifa again.

“Every single detail. Spill it,” Jessie says, all but staring her down.

“Sweet Minerva,” Aerith breathes, grasping at the tail end of her braid. “First the contract, then kissing you, _then_ your stockings? Cloud Strife is _hooked_ on you, Tifa.”

“And by every single detail, I mean everything. Clothes. Expressions. Looks. What did he _say?”_ Jessie continues, both her and Aerith talking over one another. Jessie scoots closer to her, dragging her drink with her. Yuffie’s eye glaze over in devilish glee.

“Those emails when he first started before must have been his foreplay,” Yuffie snickers.

Tifa shakes her head, her face heating at all of their stares and comments. She runs her hands through her hair and grapples at the napkin rolled up with tape, plucking at it for something to do.

“I highly doubt that, Aerith, and Yuffie it was definitely _not_ foreplay, and Jessie…um…”

Jessie cackles at the blush that blooms over her face. She reaches up to pinch her cheek, and Tifa tries to shove her arm away halfheartedly.

“You know it’s good when Tifa’s too embarrassed to say anything.”

“Tifa, do you want me to tell you what Zack did to me last night? Would that help?” Aerith asks, smirking at her. Tifa rolls her eyes at all of them.

They spend the rest of the late morning roiling over Tifa’s past few days, having sex on his desk, breaking his keyboard, fanning themselves and making Tifa curl up into herself with embarrassment, Jessie exclaiming that it wasn’t mechanical sex at all, was it? And fantasizing inexplicable scenarios that the next four weeks will entail.

They don’t leave until they’re sure their waiter and other patrons hate them for their obnoxious voice levels. They walk out giggling and leaning on one another, day drunk and buzzed. Yuffie snickers and says, “Okay, you know what you should do? Send him an email and see if he responds.”

“Ooooh,” Aerith gushes, poking Tifa’s stomach. “If he responds in the next five minutes, someone owes me a new ribbon.”

“Just ask Zack to buy you some,” Jessie says, beginning to laugh at Aerith’s pout. “Okay, so Aerith says five minutes. I say two. Yuffie, what’s your call?”

Tifa splutters. “I am _not_ emailing him!”

“Whatever!” Yuffie shouts, grabbing Tifa’s phone out of her hand. Tifa squeaks, reaching around Yuffie. Yuffie is too slippery, avoiding Tifa’s buzzed attempts at grabbing.

Yuffie knows her passcode. Tifa immediately regrets ever trusting her with it. She taps around on it while Tifa whines and protests. “You guys! This is wrong! I can’t send him an email from my _phone_ about something not work related!”

“Like hell you can’t, he emailed you to eat _lunch,_ ” Jessie says.

“Yuffie, let Tifa send it. It should be Tifa’s decision,” Aerith says, and Tifa is grateful to have _someone_ on her side.

Yuffie grumbles after a moment, grudgingly handing Tifa the phone back. “Fine. But this is gold. And it’s nothing risqué. So if you don’t send it, I’ll be disappointed in you forever. Also, I say 3 minutes and fifteen seconds.”

Jessie opens up the stopwatch app on her phone. “Okay, tell me when you hit send, Teef.”

They all look at her expectantly. Tifa frowns at Aerith, and she smiles sheepishly. “I still want you to send it, too,” she laughs.

Tifa opens her mouth to protest again, reading over what Yuffie typed.

Did you buy a new keyboard?

Tifa

She closes her mouth. It’s not so bad. It’s innocent in the grand scheme of things. She exhales through her nose.

“You are all the worst with peer pressure,” Tifa says, hovering over the send button before she sighs. She hits it, and her phone _whooshes_ with the message, sending her stomach along with it. “Okay. Sent.”

Aerith claps. Yuffie whoops. Jessie nods knowingly as she hits the timer.

They begin walking toward their converging intersection, but they don’t get far when Tifa hears her phone chime.

Her eyes widen with the notification, Cloud’s name titling the message.

“He responded.”

Jessie taps her phone, laughing hysterically. “One minute and forty-two seconds. I fucking win. Give me the trophy!”

Tifa reads over his response while they all giggle at one another. Aerith places her hands on Tifa’s shoulder to read over her. Yuffie and Jessie come around to do the same.

Didn’t I tell you not to worry?

I bought a few of them, just in case.

Cloud

Yuffie begins shrieking first. Jessie shakes Tifa’s whole body. Aerith places a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter.

“He bought _more than one._ This is better than a soap, I swear to Leviathan,” Yuffie trills.

“Tifa, invite this man into your bed and never leave it,” Jessie says, swooning. “My heart can’t take this.”

“Told you. He’s hooked,” Aerith says, elbowing Tifa’s side with a wink. Tifa groans and tells them she’s done with all of it for the day.

It’s a lie they all let slide, and they regrettably break away from each other at the intersection. They force Tifa to keep them updated and to tell them every dirty detail or they’ll be at her front door, forcing her hand. Tifa laughingly agrees.

By the time Tifa gets home, she sits on her bed and reads over his email again, still slightly buzzed and wondering if it’s real.

_I bought a few of them, just in case._

She throws her phone on her bed to keep herself from responding before she gets a better hold of herself. Then she crawls back to her mattress to grab it in a huff.

I wasn’t worrying. Bring your ruined shirt to work, tomorrow. I’ll sew it.

Tifa

Tifa gets up and leave her phone on her bed, only to dart back to it when she hears the ping of the responding email.

Alright, I will. Come to my office at lunch. I’ll give it to you then.

Cloud

Tifa reads over the email three times until it doesn’t sound sexually suggestive. It doesn’t change. All she can read is _I’ll give it to you,_ and she lies on her bed and stares at the ceiling, never before wanting to go to work so badly.

* * *

The following day, Tifa decides not to wear stockings. Just in case. She’s hyperaware of her outfit, but she tries not to let it bother her. She makes sure she’s well-groomed. She runs her perfume along her wrists, and, trying not to think too much about it, runs a line in her cleavage. She shakes her head a little at herself in her bathroom mirror, but she can’t will away the small smile that lingers.

She attempts to fall into the regular rhythm and tide of work, occasionally distracted, frequently finding her mind elsewhere. It is not as productive a morning as she would have liked, but all she can concentrate on is the tick of the clock, edging closer and closer to noon.

As soon as the time shifts from 11:59 to 12:00, Tifa saves her work and stands up. She bites her lip. She’ll wait a few more minutes. She can’t show up to his door so… _immediately_.

 _Yes you can,_ her mind says, betraying her. She sits back down and whittles away the next few minutes before she deems it a respectable time to venture toward the elevator, bringing a tote bag with her to hold his shirt.

When she arrives, it is 12:10. Scarlet is, blessedly, not present behind her desk. She must take lunch elsewhere—and Tifa wonders if Cloud planned it this way. Her heart scuttles beneath her ribs at the thought.

Tifa swallows, sighing. She takes another breath before rapping her knuckles against Cloud’s office door, and it’s a wonder why she continues to be so nervous before she steps into his room.

“Mr. Strife…Cloud?” she says once she steps through the threshold. “Are you busy?”

He’s typing something at his computer, but he looks up at her when she enters. It’s only been two days since she’s seen him, so it surprises her how sharply blue his eyes are. How quickly she has forgotten, though they had been so vivid in her mind.

He stalks to the front of his desk, all the while loosening his tie. It’s ochre, with threaded, darker brown chevrons. It lies atop a similarly colored suit vest and a white dress shirt. “No, not anymore. I brought my shirt for you.”

He continues stalking forward to her. Uncertain of what to do, she waits for him to reach her, her hands tightening over the handle of her tote. “Oh. Good. I came by to take it.”

By the time he’s standing in front of her, he’s divested his tie. He drops it to the ground beside them. He reaches forward and plucks her bag out of her hands. He leans to the side and places it on the ground against the wall. She watches his movements like a hawk, and her heart begins to race at his proximity and how he always looks somehow so disheveled when without a tie.

“I wanted to thank you for doing this for me. And call me Cloud when we’re alone,” he says, then reaches toward her shoulders and tugs off her blazer. Tifa blinks, watching it happen, her skin heating up underneath her blouse.

“It’s only been two days, but I’ve been…thinking about this,” he continues, and he reaches up to the top button of her blouse. He undoes it, then he undoes the second and the third. Her chest expands with her inhale. “Have you?”

She feels the tension coiling in her stomach. He’s slow and deliberate as her shirt opens under his fingers, and it is such a blunt action, so straightforward and no nonsense. It would be nothing more than a business transaction were it not for the way he’s looking at her, eyes fastened to her own, falling to her lips occasionally, the deep pink of rushing blood shadowing his neck.

“Yes,” she breathes. He has not started smirking until now, hearing her confirmation. He continues unbuttoning her shirt. When he reaches the end, he tugs it off her arms. Just like that, Tifa’s in front of him in her bra and her skirt and heels.

His eyes rove over her, catching and hooking on her chest and her bra. “Purple?” he asks, and it holds the subtle lightness of his tease.

“It’s…Monday,” she says, weakly, her silly tradition suddenly exposed. She tries to push away her bashfulness and her nerves, mimicking him by pushing off his suit jacket. He lets her do it, and he lets her unbutton his suit vest, too. She tugs it down his arms, and she reaches for his dress shirt next, slowly untucking it from his slacks. He exhales lightly as she does, and when she looks away from his face and down to his pants, she stops briefly. He’s standing at attention, already pushing at the seam of his pants. They haven’t _touched_ yet, and he’s turned on and it makes her legs tremble at the sight.

Aerith’s voice flits through her. _Cloud Strife is_ hooked _on you._

 _No,_ she thinks, beginning her slow trail of unbuttoning his dress shirt. _He’s just busy. The tabloids say he’s too focused in his work for relationships. This is only an outlet for him._

And, perhaps, an outlet for her, too.

Half-way down unbuttoning, she realizes her heart is thudding harder against her sternum. Him watching her undress him feels like a different kind of pressure, and her fingers start to shake.

“You wear different colors every day?” he asks, his voice a deeper rumble. It’s still raspy, like the sound of a shirt catching on a craggy rock. “Your bra? Your underwear?”

She puffs out a breathy laugh. “You’d like to know, wouldn’t you?”

His shirt finally fully unbuttoned, she pulls it down and off his arms. Her breath is becoming harder to manage. She curls her fingers before she relaxes them, bringing a finger forward to touch his chest. He is made up of hard lines and shadowed curves. When she looks back up at him, his smirk is gone. His jaw is clenching. The look, before all of this, would have given nothing away. Now that she knows more of his expressions, this one stabs straight into the deepest part of her abdomen. She shudders a breath and reaches her palm forward, pressing it into his hardened groin. 

He exhales, his eyes flickering. He steps forward and crowds her against the wall, reaching to her sides and finding the zipper of her skirt. He must be a fast learner, because it’s as though his fingers are magnetized to it. There’s no hesitation or guessing. He tugs, and it opens, slipping down her legs and puddling on the floor. She steps out of them and kicks them to the side.

His eyes fall down to her hips, and his eyes darken further. His hands come up to press into the wall beside her, caging her in between them. “You’re matching,” he says.

“Yes,” she says, and she wraps her hand around his arousal, squeezing. His throat bobs in a swallow, and suddenly all she wants is for him to moan for her. She squeezes again, but he doesn’t relent.

Instead, he brings one hand away from the wall and trails it down her ribs. His knuckles are so feather soft, it’s almost a tickle, and goosebumps prick up at the trail he leaves. He reaches her underwear and teases around the band of them.

She releases his length from her grip, finding the button of his trousers. She searches a second for the zipper, pulling it down slowly. She reaches into the opening, finding his length again against the stretched fabric of his briefs. He exhales, sharper this time, and he tugs up on her underwear. The fabric places pressure on her sensitized skin, and she has to press her back against the wall, a soft, quiet moan escaping her. She dips her hand past the waistband of his briefs, and he hisses when she palms against the silky skin of his erection. She strokes him, unhurried, and he pulls up on her underwear twice more before he plunges his fingers past it, one finger sliding against her wet skin, then another.

She’s so ready for it that she moans louder, her head pushing back against the wall behind her. He presses closer, and his mouth finds her exposed neck. The hot circle of his mouth and his fingers caressing her clit make her tighten her hold on him, and he grunts softly. She almost smiles at the sound.

“Do that again.”

“What?”

She tugs on him harder, and a deeper noise comes out of him. He gently bites her neck in retaliation.

“Make noise.”

“Is that what you like?”

The question makes her blush, and his fingers press against her harder, circling, and her legs spread further apart like he’s opening her up.

“I…um…”

She tries to concentrate on her rhythm, trying to match the one he’s making on her, but her hand jerks from the pleasure he’s creating in her. Her pace is forceful and messy. He doesn’t seem to mind it as he brings his other hand up to try to take her bra off. She reaches behind to help, unlatching the clasp. As soon as it falls, he rips it off her arms and throws it to the side. He drops his head to her chest, and as soon as his teeth hit her nipple, she gasps and she squeezes him, harder than she means to.

“ _Fuck,”_ he growls, and he slides a finger into her. The desperation in his voice, in the word, makes her insides collapse.

“Oh,” she moans. “ _Oh.”_

She clenches around him. Her hand slides up and down more quickly, his length slick from his arousal. He tongues her breast, caressing it, wet and hot and sucking. Her thighs shake and tremble. She’s not sure she can take much more of this.

“I think—I’m—“

As soon as she breathes out her words, he slips his fingers out of her, and he grasps her wrist, taking her hand off of him. She nearly whines at the sudden halt, but he pushes down his pants and his briefs, and he grips her hips, lifting her up against the wall and standing between her legs. He pushes into her without warning, burying his face into her breasts, biting at their flesh, and she curls her fingers around his shoulders and his neck as if he’s going to fade and disappear.

His thrusts are eager and wild, and over and over and over again she feels the rise. Her clit hits right against him with every pounding, the friction merciless, a burn and a tease and a delicious tug inside of her. Her legs squeeze his waist until they’re so tight she wonders if he can breath. He raises his mouth to her neck and licks her skin like she’s an ice cream cone. She mewls and cries and she can’t—she can’t—

She curls harder, the pressure winding up. One thrust, two thrusts, and then he shudders as he comes, reaching down to touch her while he finishes. That’s all it takes. She claws the skin of his back, exhaling one last cry as she feels herself reach the height of orgasm. She rides it out for a few moments, him continuing to hold her, before she unravels her legs from his waist. He carefully lowers her until her feet are touching the ground. He eases his way out of her, and he stays close, their chests colliding while they catch their breath.

She reaches up to bring him down into a kiss. It is only meant to be a chaste, thank you kiss, to relay her appreciation. But it lasts, and lasts, and lasts, long enough for Tifa to feel Cloud’s arousal press into her stomach once more. She breaks away in a gasp, feeling herself now tightening up again with heated wanting.

“Wanna go again?” he asks, pressing his forehead against hers. “We have a good twenty minutes before we should get dressed.”

Tifa huffs a laugh before sighing into him when he brings his head down to bite at her collarbone. His hands rove down to her bottom to squeeze it. Her leg is already coming up to wrap around his hip.

“I think we could manage that,” she breathes, rolling her hip against his erection. He hisses and follows her pressure, and his length slides along her clit in one long stroke. The back of her head tips against the door, and the ecstasy muddles her vision. Her hands claw at his chest, and she loves the way it ripples under her palms. His skin is smooth, his muscles rigid, and his body twists under her touch.

Closing her eyes and smiling as he enters her again, she holds the back of his neck, and the protection from his gaze helps her admit, “Moaning is what I like.”

He presses his face against her neck, and she can feel the growl he stamps into her skin with each thrust. Her hands clench his back, her fingers pressing into the lines of his shoulder blades. He grunts, and she squeezes him inside of her.

“Fuck, Tifa,” he breathes, and it is so low, it must be pulled from the deep cavern of his stomach. The words crawl into her with undeniable pleasure, making their home against her bones. She relishes the moans that he allows, in time with his jerks and thrusts. She shutters and whimpers into his ear.

“Oh, Cloud,” she moans, the rush of him overcoming her. She squeezes him so hard, she unravels completely, and she whispers. “Come for me.”

One of his hands press into the wall behind her. In two thrusts, he releases, and she feels the arm beside her shake from the force.

“Goddamn it,” he huffs, holding their position for a minute longer, basking in the release. He lowers her as best he can. She stands on wobbly legs in front of him, and they stare at each other. Their sweat combines with the heady musk of sex, and there is no better mixture than the one they make.

She reaches up to grasp his forearm, peeling it away from the wall. His fingers tremble as she holds his arm, and he lowers it to his side, coming forward to kiss her.

They truly break away after, grabbing their clothes from the floor. Cloud’s timing is immaculate. Tifa cleans herself up in his bathroom, redresses, and by the time it’s 12:55 pm, Cloud’s handing her his green shirt with a few of the buttons he was able to corral from the floor of his office on Friday. Tifa pushes back a lock of her hair behind her ear, knowing the glow from her orgasms must be like a headlamp beaming into the night.

“Thank you, Tifa,” he says, walking her to the door. He clears his throat. “Uh, no rush on that.”

“Not a problem,” she says, smiling at him as she takes her leave. She takes in his own glow, how it perches on his cheekbones and lines his eyes. It is a different pleasure knowing him this way—so specific and unadulterated.

“See you later,” she waves. 

“Yeah,” he mutters, leaning against the doorjamb. “See you later.”

When she reaches the elevator, it opens up and reveals Scarlet on the other side. _Of course,_ Tifa thinks, but her mood is so high, buzzing in the aftermath of the midday soiree in Cloud’s office, that she gives Scarlet the largest grin on the planet.

Scarlet blinks in surprise, then her mouth curls into a cross between a grimace and a smile.

“Spend lunch with the CEO?”

“Hm,” Tifa says as they cross paths, Scarlet stepping out of the elevator while Tifa steps in. Their shoulders brush against each other. “Think what you want, Scarlet, but jealousy is such an ugly color on you.”

The murderous look that evolves on Scarlet’s face is the last thing Tifa sees as the elevator doors close. Tifa laughs all the way down the ride to her floor.

* * *

By the time Wednesday rolls around, Tifa hasn’t seen Cloud since that Monday. When she walks into the board room for the departmental meeting, the sight of him rams into her chest like a ton of bricks. There’s something about the time that passes between them, not seeing him, her memory of him as accurate and precise as she can make it, still utterly and woefully inadequate.

It seems he begins to look better and better every time she sees him.

Their eyes catch across the table. She stops walking to her seat for a moment before she blinks out of the stare, taking a seat safely and regrettably far away from him.

Reeve takes the seat beside her, Barret taking the seat next to Reeve. Vincent sits across from them. Genesis sprawls into the chair to Vincent’s right. Cait takes the seat on Vincent’s other side, and Elena sits to Tifa’s left. Tifa situates her tablet in front of her, an open document ready to take notes.

Cloud stands once everyone is present, taking his place at the head of the table beside the projector. He begins without flourish, delving immediately into the structural changes of the company, what it will entail for the employees, and how he and Shinra are attempting to make the transition as smooth as possible.

When he finishes, he takes his seat away from everyone down the table and allows Vincent to step up and take over, running over the details of financing and the proposed change and growth they expect.

Tifa types a few summaries, noting keywords and the basic idea of what Vincent is saying, but whenever she glances up, her eyes keep catching on Cloud. He occasionally locks eyes with her, and she tries to tame her blush, feeling ridiculous, but also feeling a hot streak run up her back every time they look at each other.

When Reeve takes his place up at the front, Tifa tries her best to hide her gasp with a cough when she sees the bannered notification flash on her tablet.

Her eyes dart up immediately and find Cloud, who is _smirking_ at her.

She brings her tablet up, changing the angle and trying to discreetly open her email.

Ms. Lockhart,

I have a question to ask after this meeting, if you’re available.

Cloud Strife

Tifa tries to keep a neutral expression, typing out a quick reply.

Mr. Strife,

As we are in the middle of a meeting, you may ask the question out loud, as I’m sure it would benefit everyone.

Tifa Lockhart

Senior Executive Marketing Specialist

SOLDIER CORP

Tifa tries to settle back into her seat, listening to Reeve talk about everything she already knows. She bites her lip and glances to Cloud, who is observing something on his phone.

It takes another minute before she sees the banner cross the top of her tablet with his reply.

Ms. Lockhart,

Unfortunately, this question does not pertain to this meeting’s discussion, therefore I will not broach the topic during the meeting.

I also see you are taking notes. If you have any other concerns after today, I would be happy to address them.

Cloud Strife

Tifa’s eyebrow twitches at his answer. He’s not even putting forth the effort to keep his signature. When she looks up, he catches her eye briefly, smiling before looking away.

Tifa takes a breath and responds.

Mr. Strife,

If that is the case, then I am free after the meeting to answer your question to the best of my abilities.

Tifa Lockhart

Senior Executive Marketing Specialist

SOLDIER CORP

She sees him run a hand along his jaw when he glances at his phone again.

He doesn’t send her another email for the rest of the meeting, but Tifa can’t concentrate, regardless of how hard she tries. Suddenly, she doesn’t care much about any of the information. She stares at the powerpoint, but the details are in one ear and out the other.

When the meeting comes to its conclusion, everyone begins to disperse. Tifa takes her time entering the hallway. She’s surprised when a hand taps her shoulder, and she comes face to face with Elena.

Elena smiles at her. “Hey, Tifa. We haven’t talked in a while, and now I know why. You guys have been busy.”

Tifa smiles at her. She and Elena have always gotten along well when they cross paths. Since Elena’s in the engineering department, they don’t see each other very often. They are little more than acquaintances, but Tifa’s always liked her.

“Yes, we have. So have you!”

Elena shrugs. “It’s been a hectic time. Genesis can be a nightmare, sometimes,” she says, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “And I wanted to ask you...I know this is a personal question but...have you heard the rumors?”

Tifa’s stomach drops. “Rumors?”

Elena begins to frown, but she shrugs a little. “I wanted you to know about them if you hadn’t, but...it’s been going around that you and the CEO are...close.”

Tifa blinks. That’s a nicer rumor than she had expected. She was ready for Elena to say something about blatant disrespect of professionalism and the word _fucking._

“Oh,” Tifa tries, unsure of what to say. “I...I’ve been having more meetings with him. I think it’s probably stemmed from Scarlet, his secretary.”

Elena nods, her frown turning into a smirk. “Of course. I wasn’t sure how much stake to put in the rumor. Especially if it was from her. She’s...questionable, and she loves drama.”

Tifa chuckles a little. “Yes, I’ve begun to realize that.”

“Still,” Elena says, her eyes beginning to sparkle. “It’s not a bad rumor to be a part of. I think half the staff would love to be thought of as having illicit encounters with the boss.” She winks.

Tifa blushes, and her stutter isn’t an act. “I—um—well—I guess that’s true.”

Elena laughs, shaking her head. “Just wanted you to know, Tifa, before it came as too much of a shock.”

“Thank you, Elena. That’s really nice of you.”

She shrugs. “Us girls have gotta look out for each other in the corporate world, full of all these men.”

Tifa grins. “Agreed.”

Elena bids her farewell, taking a turn down the opposite hallway back to the engineering department. Tifa meanders toward another set of elevators, her pace slow with her thoughts.

The rumor wasn’t as bad as she thought. Knowing Scarlet, she’ll probably add more exaggerated and outlandish details—which may not even be far from the mark. Tifa’s surprised Elena hadn’t said the word _slut_ or _whore_.

Maybe she was being nice.

When she arrives at the elevator, she taps the down button. As she waits, her mind lingers on the rumors. Cloud being CEO or not, it doesn’t matter—if it truly gets out, it won’t look good on him. It won’t shed him in a good light with the other chief officers—what would Reeve say? He’d be more disappointed in her than he would forming an opinion of Cloud. If Barret ever found out…Tifa doesn’t even want to think about it. 

If Rufus Shinra found out…what would happen? Would he blast Cloud’s character to the tabloids and newsfeeds? Would Cloud’s reputation become truly slandered? Sure, a relationship or affair with an employee isn’t necessarily the shock of the century, but it would be what Cloud wouldn’t want—more attention. Even worse, it would be _negative_ attention. It’s certainly something to think about…and Tifa’s not sure how to feel. The ramifications are bigger than she’s allowed herself to mull over. That day when she told him she wanted him too, she had meant it completely. She threw caution to the wind. 

What makes it any different now?

Lost in her thoughts, she misses Cloud’s presence beside her until his hand lands on her shoulder. She jumps, glancing up to her side. Cloud is looking at her, and he takes his hand away quickly when she startles.

“Hi,” she breathes. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

“Hi,” he answers. “It’s alright. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He glances over her for a moment. “Are you okay?”

“Never better,” she says, glancing away from him toward the elevator doors. She sees their reflection, their coloring so different. Him blonde and swathed in black. Her dark brown and bright in pastels. When she meets his eyes again, he’s smirking at her. She feels the desperate burn fly up her back, as it always does when he smirks at her like that. Her body straightens. Everything wants to stand at attention. 

When the elevator doors slide open, the entrance wide and empty, Tifa ventures to say, “What question did you want to ask me?”

They step into the elevator. As soon as the doors close, Cloud glances sideways at her. “I’ve been wondering since Monday,” he starts. “What else do you like?”

Tifa crosses her arms, the question’s meaning raining down on her like a leaden sheet.

“Cloud...” she whispers.

“I have nothing to do for an hour,” he says. “If you’re free.”

Her entire being shifts. She can feel the buzz between them, crossing the space of their bodies like an electrical charge. Her insides inflame, and she is puckering up, swollen and aching and full.

She glances up to him. He looks down at her. The rumors toy around her head like an annoying bug. She internally swats them away, because his eyes are so…so…

The elevator doors open on her floor, and the rush of fresh air helps to declutter her suddenly foggy, frantic mind.

“I’m free,” she says, and she makes purposeful strides to her office. He follows right behind her.

When they get to the office, Cloud shuts and locks the door behind him. He stands there staring at her, and Tifa can feel her breasts ache against her shirt. It’s a deep itch in her, something she can’t reach, flaring up like a storm. She turns and faces him, her hand finding her collar. She begins to unbutton her shirt.

It takes him eight steps to reach her. On the way, he begins to loosen his tie. He manages to get it to hang on his neck like a stretched rope, and she manages to unbutton half her shirt by the time he begins to kiss her. He reaches for the opening in her shirt, undoing the rest while he bites her lip. 

She slides her hands to the silky cloth of his tie. Sleek and black, today, she thinks, as it hangs against his chest like ribbons. 

“What do you like? Tell me,” he mutters, pushing off her shirt while she unclothes his torso and chest. They break enough to allow their frenzied undressing. _Why does it always feel this way?_ She thinks. So urgent and imperative, as if they’ll stop existing if they don’t hurry.

“Um, I don’t know,” she says, tugging at his belt buckle. As her shirt falls off, he makes a noise in the back of his throat.

“Red. Like your eyes. Are Wednesdays red?”

The look he gives her is electrifying, his pupils as black and endless as his tie. His jaw is loosened and soft in its realization.

She blushes, but she feels another wave of fire hit her, and her stomach clenches. “Yes. Red Wednesdays.”

“Had I known that last week, I’d’ve—“ he starts, but he cuts himself off by kissing her, reaching behind her to undo the bra. When it falls away, he places his mouth on her breasts immediately, and she grasps the back of his head to hold him there, moaning hot puffs of air. It feels like she can’t breathe.

“Touching me,” she says. “I like—touching.”

“What kind?” he whispers against her skin. When he sucks at her nipple, the words fall out of her.

“Your mouth. Your mouth touching me.”

His fingers rake against her skirt, professionally unzipping her on the side. It slides down her legs like it’s melting from their heat.

He groans against her at her confession. She undoes his zipper and pants, pushing them down as he plunges his hand into her underwear.

“Oh. Shiva. Cloud,” she hisses, her hips rocking with his hand. “How you touch me—“

“I’ll use my mouth,” he promises, skimming his teeth on her shoulder. His words echo against her, jamming up her throat. She can only attempt to breathe when he turns her away from her desk. “I’m fine with the floor if you are,” he says.

She’s kissing him so desperately, she can only utter, “I don’t care.”

She sits and leans back against the floor, against the rug that cushions the tile. _What a good purchase,_ she thinks madly.

He follows her, hovering above her as he continues kissing her skin. He blazes his own trail, long and arduous over her, from each breast to her ribs to her navel, biting the tender skin of her lower abdomen. Her back arches in impatience and anticipation. When his tongue hits the juncture of her hip, she gasps sharply.

“Cloud, just because I—“ she begins, her voice strangling from the pressure of his fingers on her inner thigh. “Just because I like—“

He pays her no mind, continuing his trail. He is unearthing something deeply buried inside of her. She reaches for his hair, her other hand grasping at the tight coils of the rug. Her body squirms underneath him. When his mouth lands in the juncture of her legs, she spreads them without conscious thought. When his hot breath hits the middle of her, she almost bucks up to his mouth.

“Easy,” he says, his voice a husk. His eyes lock with hers, and the position of him, of how his lips are turned up in a smirk, how he gazes at her with a dark readiness—cuts to her soul.

“Gaia, Cloud, you haven’t even—and I’m—“ she tries, unable to be embarrassed at how tightly coiled she is, at how needy her voice sounds even to her.

“Hang on, Tifa. Let me touch you.”

He presses his tongue against her, and her hands reach above her head, her stomach tensing severely. She digs her fingers fiercely into the rug. He presses his tongue over her again and again, and she arches, hitting him, finding his slow rhythm with smooth lifts of her hips.

She feels the sharp clip of his teeth, and she shutters and stiffens.

“Fuck,” she breathes, suddenly not herself. She’s not herself. She feels the vibration of his groan into her, and she shifts in agony. “Cloud, I can’t anymore.”

“What do you want?” he asks, and she’s not sure how his voice isn’t cracking or trembling, so steady and level and calm. She’s losing her mind. She’s on unstable footing. Her thoughts are tilting and slipping.

“Fuck me,” she demands, her heart racing and clawing at her throat. “Lose control and fuck me.”

She finds his eyes again, and there’s a flutter through his expression. It looks like it did when she thumbed his upper lip, marking him with her lipstick, and her thighs clench, and she sees him swallow, his lips shining with her arousal, and she wants his mouth—wants his tongue in her mouth, wants to eat him alive, consume him with her body.

“Okay,” he breathes, throat taut and crawling so he’s on top of her, holding himself above her. He drops his hips, and she glides along his erection. One of her hands slips into her hair, the other pressing into his chest. He continues gliding against her, like a tease, and she growls and keens underneath him.

“Cloud, I _need_ you,” she orders, grasping at his shoulder.

The heady look he gives her folds around her like a straightjacket. It twists around her unrelentingly, and as soon as he thrusts inside of her, she gasps. Her eyes flutter shut from the force of him. He rocks her with how rough he’s being, and she cries out every time he plunges into her, again, and again. She sees the future. She sees the past. She sees nothing at all, spiraling into white.

“Don’t stop, please,” she exhales. She hangs onto whatever she can reach. His arms, his shoulders, his neck, his hair. She wants to scream.

And as soon as she breaks, she pulls her body into him, losing her voice as it floats away from her into another dimension. She shakes, her grip merciless, and she almost doesn’t want to let go of him, afraid if she does, one breath will make her disintegrate into nothing.

“Tifa,” Cloud says, one arm coming around her shoulders to hold her. “Are you okay?”

She realizes she’s still holding onto him, her legs around him, keeping him inside of her.

She struggles to catch her breath, filled up with his sunny cologne. She nods against his neck.

“Yes. Yes, I’m…”

She’s not okay. She’s…wonderful. Extraordinary.

As she relaxes back against the rug, he’s staring at her. She slowly releases her legs from around his waist, but he stays where he is.

“Are you?” she asks, blinking the haze away. She can’t see straight, but he’s close enough to where it doesn’t matter. She smiles at him. One of his hands comes up and intertwines in hers, and he leans into her for a kiss. Her fingers wrap around his, and her other hand comes up behind his head.

“I’m…” he starts, breaking away fully to look at her. “I’m…yeah. I’m okay.”

They catch their breath, staring at each other with their chests heaving.

“You’re…uh…” Cloud begins, eying around her. It must be her hair. It’s in a wild, tangled disaster, she can almost already feel it.

“I’m a mess, I know,” she says, scooting to sit up. Cloud moves back and leaves her, sitting up, too.

“I was going to say…” he starts, but something stops him from finishing. He stands up and offers her his hand. She takes it and is pulled up beside him.

“What were you going to say?” she asks, trying to find her footing in her heels. They never manage to take them off. She uses his arm as a steadying post before she gets a handle on her balance, walking toward the pile of their clothes. She runs a hand through her hair and winces when she hits a heavy tangle of knots.

“Nothing,” he says quickly. “Just that it was…”

When he trails, she smiles in understanding, glad she isn’t the only one without words for it.

“Yeah. It was.”

He leans over to pick up his clothes, and Tifa admires him before she heads to the bathroom, again.

 _What a routine to have,_ she thinks, cleaning herself up. She leaves the bathroom door open, this time, uncaring of what he sees. When she glances up as she’s putting on her underwear, she has a thrill shirk all around her to see he’s watching her dress. When she finishes, he’s about to put his necktie back on.

“Want help with that?” she asks, still feeling almost high enough to be dizzy. She holds out her hand.

“I…sure,” he says. He gently places the tie into her palm. As she curls the it into his collar and knots it, she feels compelled to say, “My father taught me how. He’d always let me do his ties in the morning before work.”

When Cloud says nothing, she glances up to see he’s watching her again. She smiles a little at him. His look is so absorbing and serene, it reminds her of the beginning of the day, with the sunlight peaking through the curtains.

When she finishes, she runs her hand along the tie, pressing it down against his suit vest. Cloud leans forward to kiss her, and while there is a heat to it, something deep and dark and unsteady, it also feels like an anchor, keeping her from losing her mind completely.

“Thank you, Tifa,” he says, looking at her one more time.

“You’re welcome,” she whispers. Cloud looks to the side after a moment, shaking his head.

“I’ll see you soon.”

“Okay,” she nods. “Have…a good day.”

“You too,” he says, turning away from her, unlocking her door, and leaving.

Tifa stares at the door. Then she glances to the rug on her floor. Then she looks at her desk and wonders how she’s supposed to get back to work after that.


	8. VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for y'all's comments, kudos, and love! I'm sorry I haven't gotten back to all the comments, but I promise I will! 
> 
> Posting early because it's Cloud's birthday! Happy celebrating and happy reading! I hope you enjoy!

On Friday, she has her meeting with Cloud at 4:00 pm, mimicking the previous week. They talk about her progress, and her department’s progress. She sits in her allotted chair. Cloud critiques when warranted. Tifa takes notes. She eases in the cushions, crossing her knees and leaning back. Cloud loosens his necktie and unbuttons his collar. He eventually rolls up his sleeves on his forearms. Tifa watches it happen—Cloud Strife becoming his own rendition of _comfortable_ , right in front of her.

“So, if you make sure to add something that alludes to…progression or…hopefulness, then I think this one will be finished,” he says, staring at the monitor. His words sound almost distant, like he’s speaking his thoughts to himself. Tifa bites the end of her tablet pen, watching as he runs a hand along his neck.

“And the other one, you can tie in the theme there. Brighter colors. Something with the shading. You could ask Finn on that one. He’s better at this than I am. I don’t know if…”

He continues speaking his thoughts, as if lost in them. Tifa glances at the time on her tablet. 4:50. Close enough.

She stands, placing the tablet in her chair. It’s only when she comes around to the side of his desk and leans against it does Cloud seem to snap out of his reverie. He looks up at her, his eyes widening slightly before he recovers.

“It’s almost closing time, Mr. Strife,” Tifa says, leaning forward and smiling. He stares at her before he begins smirking. “As much as I love to go over the details with you, I think we need to take a break.”

His smirk widens as he places his hands on her hips. “Was I boring you?”

“No. I love listening to you talk about lights and shading,” she says, teasingly, though she means it. Hearing Cloud Strife talk about art, in his rumbling, contemplative tone is… _hot._ Hearing him talk about it with his collar and tie undone, his sleeves rolled, is another thing altogether. “But I also love how comfortable you look,” she continues, bringing her fingers to the divot above his chest and tugging at his necktie.

He follows her hand with his eyes. “I didn’t realize I had…done that.”

Tifa hums, already feeling the prologue of wanting. It crackles over her skin.

“Wednesday, you asked me what I liked,” she says, stepping closer and standing between his legs. She’s taller than him as he sits in his chair, and it’s a strange kind of euphoria, with Cloud Strife looking up to her, completely at her mercy instead of the other way around. “Now, I want to know what you like.”

He watches her, his eyes becoming a darker, murkier cobalt blue. “I like everything.”

She smiles at his answer, shaking her head. “No, that’s not what I mean. You know what I mean.”

He runs his hands up her waist from her hips, cupping her ribs underneath the curve of her breasts. Tifa takes a deep breath, the pressure of his fingers merciless with their sensation. She rests her hands on his shoulders while he stares at her, thinking about it.

It takes him a few quiet moments to form an answer, and when he does he tilts his head up to look her in the eyes. They zap her, trapping her in their depths.

“I want you on top of me,” he says slowly. “I like…watching you.”

She’s certain he can feel the drumming of her heart against where his thumb lies, right underneath her sternum. The air is pushed out of her lungs.

“Okay,” she whispers, bringing her hands up to divest her shirt. “I’ll be on top of you.”

One of his hands leaves her side to take off her skirt. He stands from his chair, and she helps take off his shirt and pants. Every time she sees him undressed, something spikes inside of her belly. His heat radiates into her, and she’s driven with an overwhelming need to touch him. That’s what she does next—she places her palms on his chest, feels the skin and bones pressing back against her. She finds the grooves of his abdomen, feeling them tense underneath her fingers. She leans forward and kisses him underneath the curve of his collarbone. His breath hits her forehead as she glances up to him before she kisses down the line of his chest, the newness of this part of him against her lips warm and smooth and unblemished. His hands grip her hips again, but he is still in front of her, doing nothing more than holding onto her.

“Sit,” she tells him softly, nudging him against the chair. He does as he’s told, and she reaches behind her to pull off her bra.

“Black,” he says, watching its descent to the floor beside them. “Are Fridays always black?”

She smiles. “Not always.”

His chest rises and falls in a breath as he sits, gazing at her. He reaches forward to help her out of her underwear, and he plants a kiss underneath her bellybutton. She sharply inhales at the contact, running her hand through his hair. He makes a noise as her nails scrape his scalp.

“That’s right,” he says. “They were nude last time. Cream or tan or—“

“You remember,” she says, and her stomach tightens up at the memory. He looks up at her through his lashes.

“Of course I do.”

It’s such an honest admission. How does he do it? She thinks. How does he make her insides twist and turn by merely uttering one simple phrase?

She crawls onto his lap in the chair, straddling his hips. The chair is large enough for her to rest her knees on either side of him. It gently rolls backward into the desk, and Clouds hands cup around her thighs. Tifa reaches down between them to hold his arousal, and his eyes grow half-lidded. He tips his head back to watch her face, a few inches above and away from his own. He exhales, his shoulders falling. He is at ease, completely, his face soft and bathed in pleasure. He raises a hand to her face, his palm cradling her jaw and his thumb tapping her bottom lip.

He groans faintly against her ministrations, his eyes closing briefly before continuing to watch her. She puts pressure against the tip of him, and he jerks a little, a sharp inhale rushing past his lips.

One of his hands makes a trail up her legs, and he reaches for her middle and she wants it—oh, she _wants_ it—but she halts him, gripping his hand and placing it back against the arm rest.

“No,” she says, grasping him more firmly in her palm. His breath shudders. “Not yet.”

“Tifa,” he says, weakly, halfheartedly pushing against her hand. She holds him down with little force.

“It’s my turn,” she says, leaning forward and kissing the skin below his ear. He reaches toward her again, fingertips finding her breast, his other finding purchase against her waist, and she moans in his ear. He bucks into her hand, and she feels him huff, saying, “I’m…I’m, uh…”

“You’re what?” she asks.

His breath is becoming thick and heavy. His chest rises in uneven inhales. “I’m…really…” he says, unable to finish the thought.

“What do you need?” she says, taken over by his ecstasy. He can’t hide it, the muscle bunching in his jaw as he presses his head into the chair. He squeezes her again and tries to bring her forward, but she holds back against him. He grunts in frustration.

“Tifa, I—“

In a burst of inspiration, remembering what he did their first time, she pulls her hand away from his arousal, and she drags her fingers against her tongue before reaching back down and running them along his length.

His eyes follow her every motion. When her wet fingers touch him, he all but hisses. “Fuck. Tifa. I can’t—“

She presses her face against his neck, licking his adam’s apple. He’s breaking. She can feel him tremble from holding back, and she whispers, “Yes, you can.”

She feels his stomach contracting, His muscles are strung tightly, like guitar strings about to pop.

He does his best to quell it. He clenches his teeth against it. He’s a marvel as he attempts to cease the inevitable, as she sees every line of him strive for the impossible. His grip on her is almost painful, increasing and increasing as he finally unwinds. He comes in her hand with a low moan, and he is beautiful as the pinch in his brow slackens, and as his eyes glow with the impeccable wonder of release.

As he looks at her, his gaze is staggering, molten blue, melting sapphires. No longer ink stains. Have they ever truly been ink stains?

Tifa is surprised as his neck flushes the moment after, and he turns his face away from her.

“I—I don’t usually…” he struggles, and like a flash of lightning, Tifa realizes he’s _embarrassed._ Tifa hurries to lean forward and kiss him, holding his face in her sticky hands, assaulting his mouth with her tongue.

Not sure why she’s compelled to comfort him, Tifa begins talking.

“No, Cloud. I don’t care what you usually do.” She kisses him again. “Do you want to know something?”

His eyes are dazed as she breaks away, his eyes chasing her lips.

“I…okay,” he says.

She leans forward so that her cheek presses against his, her mouth on his ear, partially so she doesn’t have to face his eyes when she confesses. “Last week, when you told me you wanted me…you had to leave, and I was so…I was so…”

“Turned on?” he tries, and she can hear his smirk emerging behind his words. She smiles.

“Yes. I was. I was so turned on I went to my bathroom, and I…” she hesitates for a moment. “I touched myself. I thought of you the whole time. I thought about…your tongue and fingers…and I…”

He grunts a little, his hands roaming until they knead her bottom. He pulls at her enough so that she can feel her skin shift, and she gasps quietly.

“I came in my bathroom at the thought of you,” she says, her cheeks burning, her hands holding his shoulders.

“Tifa, goddamn it,” he says, his breath shaky. “I’ve been thinking about you ever since you walked in here and threatened my reputation.”

His response surprises a laugh out of her. “You have?”

“Do you know how sexy you looked, making me wish I had offered sexual favors long before?”

She laughs again, shaking her head. “Oh, Cloud. I can’t believe…”

“And to know that you thought about me in your bathroom,” he says, his voice dusky, spilling over her like fog. He pulls her hips closer to him, and she can feel his arousal beginning again. She moans.

“I had a dream about you,” she says, rocking over him, thighs shaking from their position. “You asked me to waste time with you.”

He brings her back and kisses her, biting her lip, their teeth clacking together from his urgency.

“And what did you say?” he asks against her.

Her hands come up and run through his hair. “I had an orgasm.”

“Fucking Shiva,” he breathes into her, his embarrassment long gone and pure wanting taking its place. Tifa rubs herself against him, and he groans, nipping at her shoulder, kissing her neck.

He grips behind her thighs and she shifts forward, pressing him into her. She doesn’t realize how ready she is for it until it happens, and her body begins a rhythm, focusing on the feel of him, her clit hitting the edge of his lower abdomen with each jerk.

She’s still a few inches above him as he watches her, his mouth slightly parted, his eyebrows pinching again with concentrated pleasure.

The chair rocks back and forth, tapping his desk with their force, but neither seem to care. The pressure between them builds like a slow and steady thing, rising and rising in a constant incline.

Tifa grips his arms and controls the pace, his hands merely clenching at her between his fingers as if he wants to break her skin apart. She huffs and pants, a moan growing from the resonant depths of her throat.

“Cloud,” she whispers, catching his eye. His stare nearly unravels her like a spool of thread. She brings one of his hands to her breast, and she keens, gripping his hand with an iron fist. “ _Cloud.”_

She rolls again and then she loses it, pitching forward, one hand holding his and the other splayed across his chest. She feels him in a moment, clenching and releasing in a low sigh.

When she opens her eyes to find his face, he’s watching her with a small smile. He reaches up to move her bangs from her eyes.

“I could watch you all day,” he breathes, face glowing.

Tifa feels herself blush, shaking her head at him. “Sure you could.”

She starts to untangle herself from him after another minute, straightening her legs against their soreness from her cramped position. She sighs at the sensation, not having realized the pain they were in before. Cloud comes up behind her and kisses her neck, wrapping his arms around her.

“That was really…something,” he says.

She smiles at his words. “Yeah…something.”

He releases her as she bends to pick up her clothes, automatically heading toward the bathroom. When she finishes, Cloud is doing up the last buttons in his shirt. He’s foregone the suit vest, the jacket, and the necktie, and when he looks up at her, he hesitates.

“It’s…almost 6:30,” he starts, and Tifa blinks, shocked at how much time they had spent.

“Really?” she says, striding over to her tablet, reinforcing the information when she looks at the digital clock. “Oh.”

“Did you…have other plans?” Cloud asks.

She usually calls her dad at 7:00 on Friday evenings, right before she makes dinner. It’s a routine she’s fallen into, along with the rest of her weekend. It isn’t a big deal if it’s a little later than usual. She’ll send him a text to let him know.

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m just…surprised, that’s all.”

“Alright…well…” Cloud starts again, pausing. “It’s almost dinner time, if you’d…”

At the words, Tifa darts her gaze back to him, waiting for him to finish.

“If you’d…like to grab something to eat,” he says. He avoids looking at her, instead messing with the button of his sleeve cuffs.

Tifa feels her mouth fall open. “What?”

He shrugs. “Thought I’d offer. You can say no,” he continues, face suddenly shuttered. She’s astounded to find she notices it so immediately, because she hasn’t seen it on his face in several days. Ever since he came to her office the week before, he’s been much more…human.

She tilts her head at him, furrowing her brows. “You want to get dinner?”

He catches her eyes before he glances away again. “Sure.”

It is a stiff answer. Neutral and apathetic. Tifa’s brows soften.

“Okay. We can grab dinner. Let me grab a few things from my office and we can go,” she says.

His gaze remains neutral. “I’ll meet you in the garage.”

Tifa nods, taking her leave to her office, and attempting to wrap her mind around the fact that she’s going to dinner with _Cloud Strife_ on a Friday night. And strangely enough, he had looked prepared for her rejection. Her heart churns at the thought. Had he believed it would have been her first choice to say no?

When she grabs her phone and her purse, locking her office door behind her, she immediately texts her dad.

_Hey dad. I got held up at work tonight. Can I call you later or tomorrow morning?_

He sends his reply when she’s in the elevator, heading toward the garage.

_Sure, honey. Just let me know when._

As the elevators open up to the bottom floor, Cloud is standing a few feet away near the entrance. He looks up at the elevator’s ping of arrival.

“Hey,” she says, walking up to him. She can’t tell anything from his expression. He’s sheltered again. What’s happened in the time between sitting in his lap and asking her to dinner that has…changed things?

“Hey,” he says, nodding toward a line of parked cars. “We can take my car, if you don’t mind.”

Tifa smiles, shaking her head. “Oh, that’s perfect. I don’t drive to work. I walk.”

Cloud raises his brow at her. “You do?”

“I don’t live far. Just a block away.”

Cloud gestures in front of him, motioning for her to follow. “Stargazer Heights?”

“Yes, that’s the one,” she says. “They’re nice. I’ve lived there so long, I feel like I’ve become really good friends with the landlord.”

Cloud smiles a little at that. Tifa latches onto it, hoping it’ll stay.

“Where do you live, if you don’t mind me asking?” she says.

“I don’t,” he says. “I live on the edge of Sector 2.”

Sector 2, Tifa thinks. Of course he lives there. That’s the sector with all of the high rises, the condos, the mansions, the wealth.

“I’ve driven through there a few times on the tramway,” Tifa says. “It’s a pretty sector.”

“It’s okay,” Cloud says, stopping in front of a sports car. Tifa stares at it, willing her face to remain stoic.

“This is one of our prototypes,” she states, intimately familiar with its design. It is all curvaceous lines, leather, hand stitched interior, an ivory stick shift, mother of pearl lining the dashboard. It is a beautiful piece of machinery, well-maintained, efficient, and luxurious. 

“Yeah. I got it for a bargain, being that it’s manufactured by our company.” Tifa glances up to him to see him smirking at her. She realizes he’s joking again, and she smiles back.

“I’ve never ridden in one, before,” she says, abruptly intimidated.

“Now you will,” he says, walking to her side and opening the door.

_Manners,_ she thinks walking to the car and slipping inside. “Thank you.”

He nods and gently shuts the door, walking around and taking his seat behind the wheel.

“Don’t worry. I won’t drive too fast.”

It doesn’t surprise her at his allusion that he does, indeed, speed.

“You better not,” she says lightly. He turns on the engine and curls out of the garage, heading onto the main highway of Midgar. Tifa sinks into the leather seat, the pulse of the engine roaring into her bloodstream.

A gentle stream of music filters out of his radio system, and he turns the volume down enough for it to be overtaken by the engine. The sun is not ready to set, lasting for a couple hours more in the summer evening. The sky is the color of a slow, hazy orange—sleepy and lugubrious, extending the day like a drawl of words.

Tifa never sees Midgar this way, through a window in the passenger seat of a car. She’s only used to it on a manmade track, glancing out of a square, cloudy tram window, obscured by the metal buildings and hulking architecture. From her angle now, she can see the billboards and the smaller businesses, the lurid neon signs, the cafes, the restaurants with balconies and fancy glass railings.

She leans against the door, eyes absorbing everything that the city has to offer as they pass. They drive past areas on the looped highway that she never visits, nor has any time or reason to visit. In a flash, Tifa realizes all of the places she has yet to see and experience. _I am a workaholic,_ she thinks. _I’ve lived here five years and I don’t know half of the city._

“What’s your favorite sector?” Cloud asks.

Tifa settles away from the window, turning her head to glance at him.

“Oh, I hardly leave Sector 7. I can’t say I have one.”

“Why don’t you leave?”

Tifa glances back out the window. “Sector 7 has everything I need. Everything is readily available and within walking distance. I guess…” she trails, sighing. “I guess I sometimes feel it’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

She sees Cloud frowning out of the corner of her eye.

“That’s not necessarily true.”

He’s probably right, she thinks. She could explore, if she felt so inclined. She could venture. Perhaps she’s felt too…stuck.

“What’s your favorite sector?” she asks.

“Don’t have one.”

Tifa laughs. “What? You don’t? Why not?”

He shrugs, smirking. “Midgar is a fine place, but it’s too busy and cluttered. I like…space.”

She hums at his answer, taking note of it in her brain like she does annotations on her tablet.

“Favorite places, then?”

“I have a few,” he says. “Do you like pizza?”

“Of course.”

“Do you mind if I take you to one?”

Tifa begins to smile. “Not at all. I would love to go.”

“Alright,” he says quietly, curving off a highway exit into Sector 3.

* * *

They park in the lot besides a small restaurant entitled, _Under the Rotting Pizza._ Tifa’s eyebrows quirk at the sign, the neon ball mimicking the moon—and cheese—held up above the words, lighting up the progression of it melting over the word _Pizza._

“I’ve heard of this place,” she says, waiting for him to step around the car. “I’ve seen a lot of advertisements for it.”

They walk side by side toward the entrance, Cloud saying, “It’s pretty popular, even though the name has _rotting_ in it. It used to be a hole in the wall before word got out.”

He’s right. A lot of people are packed inside, with few customers scattered outside and holding a ticket for their orders.

The make their way into the line, and Tifa relaxes against the casual atmosphere, entrenched in the yeasty fumes of freshly baked bread and the indulgent aroma of cheeses. Small wooden tables fill the space, handfuls of families, young adults, and children crammed inside. She glances at Cloud and imagines him in his sharp suits and fine lines, being a customer to such an unrefined place and enjoying the universally fulfilling taste of pizza.

“What?” he asks, noticing her stare.

She shakes her head. “You just…look out of place.”

His lips quirk. “I always look out of place.”

Tifa takes a moment before responding, unprepared for his answering comment.

“ What do you mean?” she asks.

He simply shrugs. “Always been that way.”

She frowns, but he says nothing more.

By the time they order, a few tables open up as people take their leave. Cloud motions to one of them, and Tifa sits in one of the wooden chairs. It’s a table for two, pressed up against the glass window looking out into the neighborhood street. Across from the pizza place is a bakery with an ice cream eatery attached. A few other restaurants line the street, multiple groups of people milling around the sidewalks, eating ice cream cones or dolled up and walking into different venues.

“Do you come here very often?” she asks him.

“If I’m in the area, I’ll stop. I don’t go out of my way,” he says, following her gaze out the window. “I used to come here more before the promotion.”

“Work strikes again,” Tifa says, smiling at him. “Keeping you from wasting time.”

He smirks at her. “It’s not so bad. It’s what I wanted.”

“You mean being CEO?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he says. “I knew what I wanted, and I knew life would continue to change if I achieved it. And...” he shrugs, glancing away from her stare. “Less free time wasn’t much of a loss for me.”

“What did you do in your free time before?” she asks.

“The same thing that I do now,” Cloud admits. “I find different food places to try. I drive around the city. I...” he pauses, hesitating before continuing. “I, uh, tend to have a habit of driving out to the plains and fighting monsters.”

Tifa straightens at that before leaning forward on her elbows against the table. “You fight monsters?”

“On the weekends. Sometimes after work.”

Tifa stares at him for a while, linking her information of Cloud Strife together.

“How do you fight them?” she asks.

Cloud runs a hand along the back of his head. “I...sword fight.”

Her eyes widen. It makes sense. The different styles and brands SOLDIER sells, equipping the masses, promoting sword fighting classes and education, along with different guns and staffs and spears, javelins and hooks.

“When did you learn?” she asks, unable to hide her interest.

His cheeks redden. “I was...pretty young. Early teens.”

Tifa smiles. “You’ve practiced sword fighting for a while then.”

“Seems like a comfort now, as...strange as that is to say.”

“What swords do you use? Do you have a favorite?”

Cloud seems surprised at her questions. He opens his mouth. “Yeah, I do. I use SOLDIER’s buster sword and a few of the fusion swords. Different swords for different monsters.”

“Is that what made you work for SOLDIER? Because of the fighting?”

He shrugs a little. “The appeal was strong. I knew fighting was a hobby...I couldn’t become a mercenary. Growing up...” he pauses, and his face becomes neutral again. Discomfort? She wonders. An uncomfortable topic?

“Growing up, I had that dream of becoming…uh, strong.” He stares out the window, so she can’t see the expression of his face, only the slight downturn of his frown. “Sword fighting was what I thought equated to strength. And when I found out about SOLDIER and the upstart company, I couldn’t turn down the possibility.”

“The marriage of the two,” Tifa says, garnering back his attention.

“Yeah...it worked for me. Then I learned that no matter what I did, I would always—“ he stops, cutting himself off. That neutral discomfort flickers over him again, and he’s saved in the next moment when their order numbers are called. He stands up immediately. “I’ll get it,” he says, all but stalking away from the table.

Tifa watches him go up to the pizza stand, the people around him glancing at his figure. Some unconsciously shy away in intimidation. Tifa stifles a humored smile. She can relate.

When Cloud comes back with their tray, Tifa eases the conversation away from sword fighting and into other, lighter topics as they tuck into their food.

“It makes sense you fight monsters,” she says.

“Why?”

“Because of how you...look,” she says, beginning to blush, realizing what she’s admitting. It connects with his physique. He doesn’t go to a gym. He swings around massive swords for fun.

“How I look?” he says frowning, before the sudden acknowledgement dawns on him. His lips twitch into a smile. “Oh. How I look. How do I look to you?”

Trying to fight her blush, Tifa rolls her eyes and says, “You look like any other guy who I thought goes to the gym.”

“I do that sometimes,” he says, still smiling. “Not as much as the fields.”

Tifa imagines, for one weak moment, the rippling of his chest when he grabs her hips, the shadows of his arms as he pounds into her. She blushes deeper, berating herself. “Hm,” she hums, unable to say anything more.

“What about you?” he asks. “What do you do in your free time?”

She starts to tell him about her weekend routines. She tells him about Zangan’s dojo. She tells him about her evening runs after work.

At the growing smile on his face, she pauses her talk. “What is it?”

“Just that it makes sense, now. How _you_ look.”

She begins to blush again. “What?”

He raises an eyebrow at her, his stare knowing. He doesn’t say anything at all, and Tifa feels more embarrassed by that than his words. 

“Ah…thank you.”

Smile still on his lips, he asks, “Wasn’t there a time where guys sent you flowers?”

Tifa blinks, pausing before biting her pizza. “I—um, yes. A long time ago.” She puts her pizza down, giving him a quizzical stare. “How did you know about that?”

He lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “Rumors. It was right before I got promoted.”

Tifa shifts in her seat. She had thought the flowers had been a distasteful prank. She kept receiving them twice a week for a _month,_ from four different men in the company. They all worked in the IT department, so Tifa had thought it was a dare or a practical joke. Al, the main IT director, was a bit of a ladies’ man, and that was his signature: sending flowers to the flavor of the month. Strangely, flowers came from a different man each week, but Tifa knew a trademark when she saw it.

She had called the IT department the second week, politely asking for Al and asking why they were all sending flowers—to which Al replied, “Because you’re beautiful, Miss Lockhart.” He said “miss” like “miz”, his accent a backwater twang that did not sound like a man with high intellect for information technology. It was another reason for his easy charm that so many women fell for. “And beautiful women deserve flowers as pretty as they are.”

To which Tifa then said, “…Thank you, Al. But I’m afraid this is against company policy. If this continues, I’m going to have to notify HR.”

To which Al said, a knowing edge to his voice, “Oh, of course. Would you allow me to take you out on the town, instead? Buy you a drink? We can get to know each other better that way.”

To which Tifa replied, “I’m not interested right now, but I really appreciate the thought.”

Tifa never cared for thoughtless gestures of “romance”, especially when Al had never been known for his genuine attention, nor when he was teaching his mentees how to go about wooing women working in the same company.

Aerith had apologized later, the flowers having originated from her shop.

“Sorry, Teef,” she had said. “I thought you had a secret admirer! I mean, they _did_ choose the best flowers. You should have just gone out and had them pay for your dinner!”

“Yeah,” Tifa says presently, reminiscing and sighing. “That was weird.”

“Weird?”

“I didn’t know any of them,” she explains. “They were all friends, and Al has always been the biggest flirt in the company. I thought it was a prank, and they were trying to see who would…get me to say yes.”

Cloud frowns at that, averting his gaze. “Even though Al likes to rebel against company policy, he’s too good at the job. I cut his pay rate, and he hasn’t done anything out of line since. The other three don’t work at SOLDIER, anymore.”

“No,” Tifa answers. “The purge got them.”

Cloud’s eyebrows quirk. “The _purge?”_

Tifa bites her lip, but it’s too late for her to go back, now. “Oh, that’s…what everyone called it when you became CEO. You…made a lot of cuts. People were scared for that next month.”

Cloud leans back in his seat. “Ah. Right. That.”

Tifa stares at him. She had kept up with who had been fired or let go that month, and she had felt both surprised and puzzled when Al maintained his position and the other three were terminated. While they must not have been essential enough to justify keeping, it was startling to see three of them snipped from the company, from the same department, like pulling petals off a flower.

One thing made evident, however, was that Al never bothered Tifa again and, as far as she knew, any other girl in the company. 

“I didn’t realize it was called something,” Cloud says, his smirk turning a little wry. 

“A lot of employees were intimidated by you, you know. They still are.”

He makes a noncommittal noise but says nothing further. 

Tifa takes another bite of her pizza, mulling over something he had said. 

“You said rumors. Was there more than one?”

Cloud looks at her. His face is once more apathetic and stoic. It makes Tifa unsettled. 

“There were more…” he starts, pausing for a moment. “They really don’t have a basis in fact, so they don’t matter.” 

Tifa smiles. “It’s okay. You can tell me. I’m curious.”

His stoicism pervades him deeper, somehow. “It’s…not relevant.”

“What rumors are relevant?” 

Cloud’s chest heaves in a sigh. “It’s a bit…distasteful.”

Tifa’s eyebrows fall over her eyes in a pinch. “Now I really want to know.”

Averting his eyes, Cloud finally says, “Some people said you were trying to see how many guys you could date in a month. Some said you instigated receiving flowers because you wanted…the attention. You wanted to stir up company drama. Others were just…name calling.”

Tifa blinks, a sudden flare of defensiveness blanketing over her. “Really? But…I didn’t do anything to even…I…”

“Like I said, they were underhanded. I think some women in the company were jealous of you for getting so much…friendly admiration.”

Suddenly lacking appetite, Tifa pushes her plate away. She had always prided herself on being well liked among the masses. To know that some people perpetuated such ugly rumors, rumors with teeth that bit into her character, makes her feel very uncomfortable and blindsided. Of course, it shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, being such a long time ago. But…

She suddenly wants to kick someone’s ass. Or a weighted punching bag. She’s glad it’s so close to Saturday. 

“I didn’t even tell anyone about the whole thing,” she says.

“Tifa, it was a year ago. It’s okay.”

She glares at her plate. “Still. They were just flowers.” She shakes her head. “It’s silly how much it bothers me, but…”

“They were idiots and not worth your time, Tifa,” Cloud says, and when she looks up at him, she finds that he’s smiling at her. “Put it out of your mind.”

She crosses her arms, leaning against the window. “This is childish, but…I’m glad they don’t work there, anymore.”

Cloud scoffs, and it almost sounds like a laugh. _Has he ever laughed?_ “I think that’s the meanest thing I’ve ever heard you say.” He pauses. “Toward someone who isn’t…me.”

Tifa’s face softens as she looks at him. His smile fades, and their stare becomes a contemplative one. His apathy has begun to wear away, his eyes opening their blinds again. 

Tifa clears her throat. “Well…since we’re on the topic of rumors…”

Cloud raises a brow. “There’s another one?”

Tifa nods, spinning her plate absently. “Apparently, we’re doing illicit things together.”

Cloud makes a noise, leaning back in his chair. “I wonder how that rumor cropped up.”

Tifa smiles uneasily, hearing his sarcasm but still hesitating. “I’m pretty sure it was…me.”

At that, Cloud’s face slackens with surprised amusement. His eyes almost sparkle, and that’s a new thing altogether. “Tifa, I don’t think anyone has heard your screams but me.”

Tifa’s mouth drops open, and a flare fills her cheeks. “I—I didn’t mean _that_.”

Still amused, Cloud asks, “Then what did you mean?”

“I…” she tries, annoyed at herself. “After our first meeting when I messed up my hair and my skirt, I made sure Scarlet saw me…”

If anything, Cloud’s eyes alight even more. “Oh, so you started the rumor _before_ any of this happened.”

Tifa’s cheeks continue flaming. She glances away from him, but her eyes keep darting up to find his, hooked on the emotion he’s showing. The humor in his eyes is almost a novelty. 

“I thought I was going to be fired, so I tried not to care,” Tifa answers meekly. “I figured it was only a matter of time, so why would it have meant anything?”

Cloud crosses his arms over his chest. He tilts his head at her. “I wasn’t ever going to fire you, Tifa.”

She opens her mouth then closes it. “Did you not think about it?”

He leans to place his elbows on the table. “I think Reeve _and_ Barret would have my head before that ever came to pass.”

Tifa’s lips quirk at the mention of her colleagues. “But what about you?”

“Wasn’t an option,” he answers. “Like I said before, you were too good.”

Tifa shifts in her chair, feeling oddly put on the spot. It is a compliment and a fact all wrapped together coming out of his mouth. With his eyes as bright as they are, it almost feels like… _flirting._ Tifa dismisses the thought immediately. 

“I guess Reeve and Barret _would_ try to take your head. Or have a very aggressive meeting,” Tifa teases. 

Cloud mulls over something for a moment before he says, “So Scarlet knew about us before we did.” He shakes his head. “That’s tragic.”

His words surprise a smile out of Tifa. “Pure coincidence for her.”

“She’s harmless. A declawed cat, even though she pretends she isn’t.”

Amused at the description, Tifa raises a brow. “I don’t know. She can be intimidating. She could…” she pauses, thinking about Elena’s words. “She could ruin your reputation.”

“I guess she could. But she wouldn’t,” Cloud says, surety in his voice. “She just likes to talk. She’s…dramatic. She wants to be superior. Unfortunately, she’s a good secretary even though her character leaves her…wanting.”

“So…you don’t think she’ll perpetuate the rumor to…outside sources?” she asks.

Cloud raises a brow. “I don’t think she’d do anything to put her job on the line. Of course, rumors are rumors. She’d need…evidence, instead of hearsay, if she were to go that far. I just don’t see her doing anything to harm the company’s reputation during a merger. Her job’s already on the verge of being absorbed into the company. She might be cut from it entirely.”

Tifa sighs at that, feeling a little more at ease with the situation. Cloud certainly doesn’t show any care about the potentially vile route the rumors can take. Still, it is in Tifa’s nature to worry, so she continues to worry still. 

She pushes it to the back of her mind, instead asking, “Has she ever tried to get on your good side?”

Cloud scoffs, glancing out the window again. “Sometimes, she stares at me for too long, but half the time I think it’s because she’s annoyed with doing her job.”

Tifa snorts, covering her mouth. Cloud glances back to her with his glowing, amused eyes. “What’s so funny?”

“I don’t think she’s annoyed, Cloud,” she says, laughing lightly. “I think she wants to…um…you know.” 

At her unspoken suggestion, Cloud blinks before he begins shaking his head. “No. No, she definitely doesn’t want that.”

“I think she does. She doesn’t like me at all, and I think it’s because of the…rumors of us.”

“I hardly think that she’d…” Cloud trails, his eyebrows knitting. 

Tifa looks at him knowingly. “Cloud, half the staff would like to be illicit with you.”

His cheeks pinken. “I…what?”

His shock is endearing. It brings youth into his face, and he looks almost sweet. 

“That’s the news I heard earlier this week. I’m sure it’s true,” she says. 

“What makes you think it’s true?”

“Because you’re—“ Tifa stops her automatic answer. _Because you’re handsome and intimidating and powerful and who wouldn’t want to be underneath you?_ “Because you’re…the CEO.”

Cloud’s lips turn up in his dry smirk. “Right, of course.”

At his look, Tifa feels as though she answered incorrectly.

“Would you have ever asked Scarlet to…um…do what we do?” she ventures, grasping on to a question that would keep her from regretting the loss of humor. 

Cloud looks affronted. “No. Never.”

“Really? But…she’s beautiful.”

“Beauty’s not the only thing I want,” Cloud answers, staring Tifa down. Her chest begins to warm. 

“Oh. Of course. Well…she certainly tries with her dresses.”

Cloud smirks. “Not interested. She’s not my type.”

Tifa takes the bait. “What is your type?”

“I think you already know.”

The breath expels from her, low and quiet. _Flirting,_ her mind niggles at her. _He’s flirting with you._

“No, I don’t think I do,” she says. “Tell me.”

“Long legs. Long hair,” he answers, eyes glancing over her. “Red eyes.”

“Red eyes? That’s very specific.”

He begins smiling. “She also wears red on Wednesdays.”

She takes another breath. “Oh, that’s one point for Scarlet.” 

Cloud scoffs, and it _is_ a laugh. She watches his jaw and his lips, waiting in wonder for what he’ll say. 

“Oh, sorry. She wears red _underwear_ on Wednesdays. Big difference.”

Tifa crosses her legs at her knees. 

“The distinction is very important,” Tifa says. 

“She wears black on Fridays. Sometimes,” he continues. “And purple on Mondays.”

“Hm,” Tifa hums. “Sounds like she has good taste. What does she wear on Tuesdays and Thursdays?”

“I still need to find out,” he says. “Unless she’ll tell me.”

Tifa begins to feel the pressure of her clothes against her body. Every shift she makes is a burden. 

“No, I think you’ll have to find out on your own.”

“What a tease.”

“Can’t give everything away all at once,” she says, a smile growing on her face. Cloud watches it, and they both begin leaning forward on the table. 

“Guess not,” he says. “Wouldn’t be as fun.”

Tifa begins to feel a fullness building in her stomach as he looks at her. Her next words come out huskier than she means. 

“Too bad it’s still Friday.”

“I don’t mind. I wouldn’t be opposed to seeing black, again.”

She laughs a little. “My place or yours?”

Cloud’s eyes gleam at her answer. “How about neither?” He stands up and offers her his hand. “Come on. We’ll go somewhere else.”

Intrigued and flushed and feeling that deep, settling sense of urgency, Tifa takes his hand and stands. She’s surprised when he doesn’t let go, instead shuttling her toward the door of the restaurant. 

When they get to the passenger side of the car they stop their hurried strides, and Cloud turns her toward him and kisses her. She presses against him, gripping a hand around his loosened collar. 

“Where are we going?” she asks quietly when they break apart. 

“You’ll see,” he says, opening the door for her. 

“Who’s being a tease, now?” she says, smiling and slipping into the seat. He closes the door and walks around to the other side, taking his place behind the wheel. 

“It’ll be a few minutes,” he says. 

“I don’t mind,” she says, and she smiles at him. “Thank you for dinner.”

He looks away from her, pulling out of the parking lot and turning onto the main road. “It was just pizza,” he answers. 

Hesitating for only a moment, she reaches and places her palm on his forearm, resting on the middle console. 

“I know. I still appreciate it.”

He shifts under her hand, but he doesn’t move away. “Sure.”

They drive for a while, and Tifa begins seeing the signs indicating departure from Midgar, littered with the metal announcements of _Thank you for coming! Visit again soon!_

Tifa wonders again where he’s possibly taking her while he turns on a dirt road, skimming along a cresting hill. Tifa absently begins to run her fingers along the inside of his forearm. Cloud interweaves their fingers occasionally when she gets close enough to his palm. It is a lazy, almost thoughtless motion, happening by mere chance when their hands are near each other. 

The engine hums in a low growl, running over the rhythm of the soft music dripping from the radio. The sun is setting, and the inside of the car has lights lining along the curves of the doors and the dashboard, creating a soft glimmer around them.

When Cloud eventually parks the car, they are overlooking a valley, the earth in a severe decline from the vantage point. Tifa looks out of the window, the deepening night causing too many dark shadows for her to see clearly into the valley.

“Where are we?” she asks.

“This is my favorite spot to fight,” he answers. “I go other places, but…I like it here the most.”

She looks back down into the pit with larger intent and curiosity. She wonders if it’s her mind playing tricks on her when she sees movement among the grasses. 

“What kind of monsters live here?”

“Wolves and wyverns. Sometimes a dragon if I’m lucky.”

Tifa looks at him, bewildered. “If you’re lucky?”

“I like the challenge,” he says, shrugging a little. When he glances at her, the glow of the lights hit his eyes, creating a wondrous, shining blue stare. When their eyes catch, they don’t want to let go. She absently runs her hand along his forearm again, and he leans forward to kiss her over the middle console. She brings a hand up behind his neck, and she deepens the kiss, tilting her head, moaning when his tongue slips between her lips. 

He breaks away for a moment. “Wait,” he says, and he turns toward the other side, hitting a button. There is a gentle whirr inside the car, and the ceiling unlatches, peeling apart in two perfect sections. The parts fold into smaller and smaller pieces until they sink into the back frame of the car. It evolves the vehicle into a convertible, the summer evening heavy and redolent with the residual heat of daytime. She hears the cicadas buzzing happily in the trees. The miscellaneous sounds of night fill up the broad space. Tifa looks up to admire the night sky for a moment, the stream of stars twinkling and brightening in a dizzying array. 

“Let’s move to the back,” he says, earning her attention. At her look, he seems to falter. “I mean, if you want.”

Tifa glances over to the backseats before giving him a smile. “Looks spacious.” She leans over to slip off her heels. “I want to.”

He slips off his shoes, unbuttoning his cuffs. “Good. Me too.”

He surprises her when he goes to stand, easily stepping over the middle console to the floor of the backseats. He reaches out a hand to her. “I’ll help you step over.”

Tifa laughs a little, following his lead and standing. When she takes his hand and tries to step over, her skirt constricts her too much to make it. She steps back and immediately goes to resolve the issue. “Oh, let me just…” 

She unzips her skirt and pushes it off, leaving herself in her underwear. The heat of the evening hardly gives her any pause with feeling bare or uncomfortable, and when she looks back up to Cloud and reaches to take his still extended hand, she immediately feels a blush crowd her cheeks. His stare is always so intense when he gazes at her, and as he carefully helps her over the console, he kisses her with that same, unending urgency, again. His hands fall to her bottom and pushes her against him. She moans into the line of his body. 

“I’ll…take this off…” he says, unbuttoning her shirt. 

“And I’ll undo this…” she says, unbuckling his slacks and pushing them down his hips. He slips her top off when he’s finished. She begins to relieve him of his dress shirt. He sighs as she does, bending forward to kiss her neck. She hums against him, sliding his shirt down his back and off his chest. It falls to the floor with a few easy tugs. He steps out of his slacks and unhooks her bra. She presses her palms along the band of his boxer briefs, pushing them down his thighs and exposing his arousal. He grunts once he’s freed, and she fondles him without pause. His hands roam over her wildly, one hand cupping her breast and running his thumb over her tightened nipple, the other still squeezing her bottom. 

“Mm, Cloud,” she says, her whisper coming out like a purr. He presses against her more forcefully, and the impact makes her keen. He kisses her mouth greedily while she palms him, and she wonders an absent wonder— _how many girls have been here, before?_

It is a strange thought to pass through her in the heat of the moment. It is so sudden and abrupt, like the buzzing of a fly across her ear. It startles her for a second, and then his tongue is in her mouth, and it is forgotten just as quickly as he pulls her with him onto the leather seats. 

She lies on top of him, her thighs opening up around him in a hug while she continues kissing him. Her hands come around the sides of his face and her forearms press into his chest. Their hips run together, her underwear wet and thin rubbing against his bare length. Cloud moans when she rolls her hips against him with harder pressure, his hands moving down her sides and to her bottom, using her ass like handholds. He squeezes and presses her into him, and she groans into his mouth.

The friction they build is almost as wonderful and teasing as the way he was looking at her in the pizza shop—humored and gleaming, allowing her to witness a laugh and a smile.

She thinks of it while she kisses him, while her arousal slides over his own, as she feels the vibration of his pleasure hum from his chest like the growl of the car engine.

His hands find the band of her underwear, and he curls it down over her bottom. “We don’t need this,” he tells her, his voice rough and as deep and rich as molasses.

She complies, lifting her hips enough for her underwear to slip down her thighs. “Hang on,” she says, pushing herself up to detangle it all the way off her legs. It takes a bit of maneuvering, but when she manages to slide them down and drop them on the floor of the backseat, she nearly moans at how Cloud is watching her, sprawled underneath her against the leather seat, his eyes a glowing lustrous blue from the light of the car.

“Come here,” he tells her, gripping her hips and bringing her forward. When their wet skin hits, Tifa has to grab onto the headrest beside her to keep from collapsing forward.

“Oh,” she mewls. “Cloud.”

She rocks and he keeps control of the pace, edging her over him again and again while one hand continues holding the leather headrest and the other claws into his chest.

Their heat is so warm and wet and gliding and euphoric. When he enters her it is smooth and delicate, increasing the level right when she needs it, hitting her deeper and curling up like a fist in her abdomen.

“Oh, Tifa,” he groans, uttering her name the same way he says _fuck._ It thunders in her bloodstream, her heart pounding so ponderously it feels like her veins are shaking. “Shit. Tifa.”

His eyes close briefly, weighed down by the burning bliss between them. They open again to find her, and when their eyes lock, her breath shudders in her chest.

“Gaia, you’re beautiful,” he confesses in a sigh.

The word scuttles past her ribcage. It pushes into her like he is, over and over and over again.

His eyes are vivid and bright with streaks of pleasure. Her hand presses deeply into his chest. Her other hand leaves the headrest to clench at his shoulder.

“Oh—oh, I’m going to...” 

At her words, he rolls her across him faster and harder, the rush manic and desperate.

“Cloud—“ she cries, and she wants to watch him but she has to close her eyes because of the pressure, the build up, the quaking.

In the next moment, she comes so hard she has to bend forward, gripping him anywhere and everywhere, digging her nails into his skin like hooks.

She feels him come after her, warmth spreading through her belly up to her throat. Her ear presses into his chest underneath his chin, and she can hear the blazing rampage of his heart.

They lie there for a while, their skin meshing together in dewy content, her hands resting around him, his across her lower back, another idly beginning to run fingers through her sweaty, tangled hair.

In her hazy, postcoital wonder, she smiles against his chest.

“You called me beautiful,” she whispers.

His fingers snag against a tangle. “I’m sure a lot of guys tell you that.”

Her smile grows at the sound of his hesitation. “Not really.”

“I don’t believe you.”

She laughs. “Why not?”

“Because,” he says. “That’s what you are.”

So matter of fact. So forthright. There’s no argument to be made with his statement.

She runs her hands up his chest, a sudden tumult of affection running through her. She lifts her head slowly, looking down on him. He has a mollified expression on his face, the line of his lips soft and satisfied. She leans close to kiss him. He immediately reciprocates.

“Thank you,” she says.

His automatic attempt at shrugging is downplayed by his position underneath her. He averts his eyes.

“Al told you the same thing.”

She furrows her brows at his answer. “Al tells every woman she’s beautiful. It doesn’t mean they are.”

He makes a noise. “At least I didn’t say it to get in your pants.”

“Considering you’re already in them,” she says, lightly laughing. He smiles at her.

“Right,” he says, running his fingers along her back. “Speaking of...” he trails, leaning forward to kiss her. He kisses her again and again until finally he says, “Let’s stay a while longer.”

Tifa hums, kissing him back. She brings her hand up through his hair and buries her nails into his skull. He moans when she does, and she loves the way it sounds—how vocal he’s become just because she told him she liked it.

In the end, they _do_ stay a while longer, long enough for Cloud to grow inside of her, long enough for her legs to cramp with soreness, for her to softly scream into his ear while he edges her ever closer to infinity underneath the blue swirls of heaven.


	9. IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't say enough about the support from you guys with this story. It floors me. It makes me think I'm unstoppable. It makes me high like I'm sure an overdose of drugs would, except that, you know, I don't actually die. I re-read everyone's comments shamelessly. There is too much love here and I don't know what to do with it.❤️It's a hell of a blessing.
> 
> As always, everyone needs to tell [kotaface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aveyune23/pseuds/kotaface) how amazing she is, because she's a wonderful beta and friend and will listen to me when I'm asking her _what the hell is wrong with this tell me_ because she has the superpower of always knowing. 
> 
> Happy reading! I hope you all enjoy this!

They don’t arrive back at her apartment until midnight.

The drive is quiet, sheltered underneath an umbrella of contentment. They don’t say much, and Tifa doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence. The engine is loud enough in the compartment. Tifa sits in the seat with her legs curled up, her heels left on the floor of the passenger’s side. Cloud’s hand rests on the stick shift, and he occasionally glances at her. They smile when they catch eyes, and Tifa is inundated with a rush of warmth, looking away when she’s overcome with it—because there is a sudden fear threaded through the warmth. A fear embedded in the roots of it, infecting the feeling like a blight. She stares out the window and tries to focus on the teeming nightlife of Midgar, with all its bedazzled signs promising a good time.

When they arrive at her apartment complex, Tifa advises him on where to park nearest her building entrance. When he does, he puts the car in park, and she says, trying not to blush, “Thank you again, Cloud. This was…nice.”

She’s getting out of the car and preparing to say goodbye when he interrupts her and says, “I’ll walk you to your door.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

He merely shrugs, stepping out of his car and closing his door, the action final.

“Alright,” she says, closing the passenger door and turning toward her stairwell. “If you insist.”

They walk up the steps and Tifa walks down one of the covered hallways, herheels clapping against the metal grates as they come upon the door to her apartment. “This is me,” she says, pushing her key into the lock. When she opens the door she stands inside of it, turning to face him.

His eyes pass over her and glance into her living room. An abrupt thought shoves its way into her. _Invite him in?_

What would happen? What if he stayed?

What would it be like to allow him to sleep in her bed, to wake up with him lying next to her? It’s one thing in the office. It’s another thing in the intimate confines of her apartment.

The thread of fear tugs on her again, the color a bright burst of red neon. _No,_ she thinks. _I couldn’t._

He must feel the same. He eyes her for a moment, and she watches the way his face shifts. The rigidness remains the longer he stands before her, but she can’t deny the softness that lingers around his eyes. She’s more in tune with it, and it is such an obvious thing, now, she wonders how she had missed it before.

“Goodnight, Tifa,” he tells her.

“Goodnight, Cloud,” she answers. As he turns away, the fear tugs once more, but it is a different kind. It is a smaller fear, fraying at the edges. In a stroke of madness that grips her spine, she says, “Wait.”

He pauses to glance back to her. “Let me grab something,” she says, going into her office space. She hesitates. She could easily ask for it—open up her phone and input the numbers. Something about that doesn’t seem quite right as she impulsively grabs a sticky note and pen. She jots down the quick scrawl of numbers, folds it, and walks out to the hallway. She hands it to him. “This is my personal phone,” she explains. “If you need anything other than changing meeting times or…telling me to eat lunch.”

Cloud takes the paper and stares at it for a while, the ghost of a smile imprinted on his face. He slips it into the front pocket of his shirt. He pats his hand over it and says, “I’ll keep it close.”

She swallows, the blush that forms on her cheeks furious and hot. She is unable to form a comeback, merely watching the smile that stays on his lips.

As soon as he leaves and she closes the door, she wonders if that was a terrible idea. Should she have done it? He didn’t seem like he was going to ask for it. This whole thing is silly—and this allows him to easily throw it away if he wants, forgetting all about it if he chooses.

Except…

_I’ll keep it close._

She sighs.

_Professionalism has been gone a long time, hasn’t it_? she thinks. It doesn’t matter. She begins to change out of her work clothes and into her pajamas when her phone buzzes.

A foreign number decorates the notification. _This is Cloud._ It says. _Bother me anytime you’d like._

Tifa goes to bed smiling.

* * *

Saturday morning, Tifa calls her dad. They talk about the usual things—her work, his chemo, Nibelheim and his second in command. She tries not to mention him living with her, again, but it’s stretched tight over the words like a drum. They both feel it there, unasked and unanswered, but always steadily pulsing like a heart.

“What if I visit you after the merger?” she asks, instead, trying to remain hopeful. It might be her last chance to persuade him—and she knows she can at least have a better conversation in person.

“I would love that, honey,” he tells her. “A few more weeks, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she answers. “Three weeks and two days.”

“Ah. It’s close. Don’t run yourself ragged, okay? I don’t want to be more lively than you are when I see you.”

“Dad!” she says, unable to keep her laugh at bay. “Actually, I hope you _are.”_

“Pah,” he scoffs. “How’s Clobber? Is he minding himself?”

_Minding himself,_ she thinks. _Minding himself too well._

“Oh, dad, his name is Cloud. And he is. It’s been…good.”

“That’s great. Seemed to take him a while to warm up, didn’t it?”

She hesitates. “Yeah…”

“I still don’t like him. Treating you that way. Making you feel so badly. I wanna give him a good wallop.”

Tifa chuckles at that. “Maybe one day you will.”

At the dojo, Tifa can’t seem to pull out as much sweat as she’s used to. She goes on a run afterwards in an attempt to further clear her head, but she’s too distracted. Thoughts of Cloud continually bombard her. Her mind is on a replay reel, imagining how he patted his chest with her number folded into his pocket.

She thinks about that odd, flying thought. _How many girls have been there, before?_ And others. _How many have come before her? What happens when the merger is over?_

She gets little work done that day, and by the time it’s late afternoon, she finally relents. She texts Cloud.

**Tifa:** _Did you fight monsters, today?_

It takes him little time to respond.

**Cloud:** _Yes, this morning. No dragons, though._

She smiles.

**Tifa:** _Bummer._

**Cloud:** _Did you go to the dojo?_

**Tifa:** _I did. It was_

She pauses, wanting to type _great_ even though it’s a lie with how distracted she had been. Instead, she types out: _It was okay._

**Cloud:** _Only okay?_

She bites her lip, debating before allowing her thumbs to type out the truth.

**Tifa:** _I was distracted._

**Cloud:** _So was I._

His response makes her smile again.

**Tifa:** _How come?_

**Cloud:** _I was thinking about last night._

Her heart twinges.

**Tifa:** _Good to know it wasn’t just me._

There is a lull after her text. She places her phone down on her desk and goes to the kitchen, trying to distract herself with deciding on dinner. She grabs a glass of water instead, coming back to her desk and curling up in her seat.

**Cloud:** _What are you doing tonight?_

She immediately unravels from her chair. She hesitates over her response before she types out the first impulsive answer that runs through her head.

**Tifa:** _Probably you._

She huffs a laugh, staring at the words before deleting them. Then retyping them.

_Whatever,_ she thinks, sending it. She flips her phone over as soon as the message zooms away. She stares at the back of her phone until she hears the chime of his reply, a sudden rush of sparkling nerves bubbling up her throat. She takes a drink of her water before finding the courage to flip her phone.

**Cloud:** _I had a feeling._

Tifa laughs out loud, blushing at his response and imagining the smirk he might be giving her behind the words. Before she can type something back, he sends another.

**Cloud:** _What time? I’ll pick you up._

Tifa stares at his words. That would be going very out of his way.

**Tifa:** _You don’t have to. I’ll take the tram._

**Cloud:** _No need. I like driving._

Tifa can’t say no a second time. The thought of Cloud knocking on her door to pick her up gives her that same warmth, threaded with the same fear, and she wonders when the sensation will leave her.

**Tifa:** _Okay. Seven?_

**Cloud:** _I’ll be there._

She’s given herself enough time to shower and ready herself. She chooses comfier clothes, including shorts, a soft, flowing V neck t-shirt, and sandals, hoping they aren’t going anywhere that requires specific attire. Then she thinks she’ll just ask when he arrives.

She’s in front of her bathroom mirror when she hears the knock rap against her door. Her stomach bounces, and she runs a hand down her hair and thumbs at the bottom of her shirt before she realizes all of her nerves are making her fidget. She sighs at herself. This is silly. It doesn’t matter.

She opens the door, and she is stricken with surprise.

Cloud stands there in clothes that _aren’t_ business dress. She’s hit with the fact that she’s never seen him in casual clothing.

Or, she amends, _different_ clothing. He’s wearing a form-fitting, black jacket, slivers of reflective patterns running across his shoulders and arms. His pants are sturdy kevlar, folding into ankle boots that are made of thick leather and rubber soles. Gloves are hanging out of his front pant pocket. His cheeks are pink, and his hair is messier than usual. The flush on his face exaggerates the shine of his eyes, and though he is not terribly tall, the figure he imposes in her entryway is a tormenting kick to her system. She stares at him, her mouth parting. He stares back.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hey,” he answers.

“Um, I’m almost ready if you want to…” she says, stepping back from the door. He steps in, his booted feet echoing against the wood floor. He glances around her apartment, and she feels naked as he stares at her walls and decor, at her kitchen table and through the doorway to her office space. From his position, he can’t see into her bedroom, and this feels like a slight relief.

“Let me just put on my shoes…” she says, hesitating. “Um, is what I’m wearing okay? Because…” she motions at him. “Did you just come from battle?”

He smiles a little at her words. “No, that was earlier. I was driving my motorcycle.”

She blinks. He has a motorcycle. Of _course_ he has a motorcycle. She shakes her head, placing a hand on her hip and laughing slightly.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing, just that…I’m not surprised.”

He tilts his head at her, eyes surveying her. “What you’re wearing is perfect. I won’t drive fast when you’re with me. I wear this because of the wind.”

She takes a breath. “I’ve…never ridden on a motorcycle before.”

“It’s like a bicycle. Just faster.”

She raises her brows. “Right.”

“I think you’ll like it,” he says. The humor in his eyes starts surfacing. “Trust me.”

She toes her feet into her sandals, feeling woefully underdressed standing in front of his armored body. “Alright, Strife,” she says, lightly, fighting against her nerves. “I will. You better not disappoint me.”

It’s a tease, and she smiles at him, but his face becomes serious as he walks forward, closing in on her. She inhales sharply at his sudden proximity, and he lightly touches one of her hips with his palm. He leans against her with a soft kiss.

“I’ll do my best,” he says.

He remains close for a moment, and Tifa stares in his eyes then gazes at his lips, feeling the heat of his hand easily bypass the thin fabric of her shirt. She thinks about reaching up into his hair and bringing his face back down into hers. She can drag him into her bedroom—Jessie’s voice enters her mind. _Invite him into your bed and never leave._ She almost wants it, everything else a secondary and feeble consequence to how he has just made her stomach wrap around her spine. How her muscles twist and warp around her organs. How would it feel to wind her legs around his hips, dressed up in the rough fabric of kevlar, rubbing against her? Would it be as rough as his voice? As intense as the darkening blue of his eyes? Would having him in her bed be as richly detrimental to her body as it was in his car? In his office? His scent staining her sheets and covering her mind like gift wrap?

He steps away, and it fractures the spell. Tifa takes a deep breath, running a quick hand through her hair.

_Get a hold of yourself,_ she thinks. _Not here. Not yet._

“Let’s go,” he says, grabbing her hand. His voice is edged. She watches their fingers interlock. She filches her purse from where it sits on the side table in the entry hallway, and she locks the door behind them. The urgency surrounds them, again, as stifling as the humid summer evening.

“Aren’t you hot?” she asks, breathlessly, as they make their way to his motorcycle. It sticks out like a sore thumb against the sedans and trucks. It is undeniably a Cloud feature, she realizes.

“It breathes,” he states. “The clothes aren’t my problem.” He pauses. “I mean, they kind of are.”

Tifa laughs, and she feels damp everywhere. Damp and dewy and restless.

“They’re always a problem.”

He smirks at her as they stop in front of the motorcycle. Tifa stares at it, a small hit of adrenaline sticking in her heart. Cloud unhooks the helmet from the handlebar, handing it to her. Tifa doesn’t see another one.

“What about you?” she asks.

He shrugs. “I wear goggles.”

She frowns at him. “Cloud, are you saying you don’t wear a helmet?”

He shrugs, turning his head away from her. “It’s not as fun.”

She places a hand on her hip. “That is dangerous!”

“I never really cared, I guess,” he tells her, seemingly amused at her reaction.

“You should,” she says, slipping the helmet over her head and finding the buckle under her chin.

He makes an apathetic noise, eying her as she tightens the strap. “It looks better on you.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “Didn’t you say you would do your best not to disappoint me?”

At that, he shakes his head. “Oh, so I’m disappointing you already?”

She glares at him half-heartedly. It’s hard to glare when he smiles. “Are you going to make it up to me?”

“I’m sure I can think of a few things.”

She blushes, but she squints her eyes, placing her hands on her hips. “You could start with buying a helmet.”

He scoffs, and she sees a glimpse of his teeth. “C’mon. The sooner we get there, the sooner I can change your mind.”

He brings a leg over the seat, settling into it. He holds out a hand for her as she copies him, adjusting her bottom half so she surrounds his legs, her front pressing against his back. She finds the footholds and situates her sandaled feet on them.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

“My place,” he answers.

Her heart throbs in her chest. She catches herself from her knee-jerk reaction of saying _We are?_ Or _Really?_ Or _Why?_

Instead, she says, “Okay.” But he’s already pushed back the kickstand, revved up the engine, and turned out of the parking lot, her words lost to the sudden clutches of the wind.

* * *

The drive is surprisingly short. It is only a twenty minute drive on the streets of Midgar, versus the hour it would have normally taken on the tram.

Sector 2 is a blend of severely urban lines and residential neighborhoods. It is pristine and well-kept, the blankets of rare grass trimmed without a blade out of place. Everything else is a concrete, metal, and glass marvel, high rises on the corner of every block, the mansions populating further downtown in the sector.

He maneuvers them into the garage of one of the high rises, parking in an open space near an elevator and stairwell.

She gets off the bike first, Cloud holding out a hand to help her again. It takes a second to feel grounded, but when he stands out of his seat, she can’t help her grin.

“You were right. That was fun.”

He smiles. “I knew you’d like it.”

“Now I understand why you enjoy driving.”

“It’s more fun outside of the city,” he tells her. “I’ll show you sometime.”

The thought of it being a potential outing in the future makes her grin grow. “Okay.”

They walk toward the elevator, forgoing the stairs. “I’m on the 59th floor,” he tells her. “Might be easier this way.”

When they arrive at the landing, it continues to impress her. The floor is shiny, white marble, streaked with veins of black and gold. Dark rugs line the floors to off-set the severity of the shine, and half the walls are lined with glass. It is reminiscent to Cloud’s office. Potted ferns crowd corners, and flowers in thin, crystal vases decorate tables that would otherwise be bare without, the colors popping vibrantly against the chromatic white and gray.

“This is…” she trails as they walk down a hallway. “Gorgeous.”

“It’s alright,” he says.

“Nothing impresses you, huh?” she teases.

“Not nothing,” he answers, glancing at her. She smiles a little, looking away.

They reach the end of the hallway to his front door. It isn’t decorated. There is no welcome mat. As Cloud opens the door, Tifa thinks for a moment what the inside of Cloud’s home might be like. Will it be like an empty room, desolate and wanting? Will it be cluttered and messy, a disorganized arrangement of topics and hobbies? Will it be what she imagines, clean and precise, with straight lines as severe and frightful as his name lasered into the glass on his office door?

When she steps inside, she doesn’t know what to expect. The first thing she sees is the sky.

An entire wall is made of pure glass—just like his office. So reminiscent of his office. _Had he done that on purpose?_ She thinks as she stares at it, her breath momentarily taken away. It looks out not over Midgar, but toward the Western Continent, the glimmer of sea like a border of diamonds sparkling against the neckline of the earth. The sun is in the middle of its decline, gently lowering against the horizon. It is far enough to the left of the highrise that it isn’t as blazing or bright as it could be, had the window been directed any further west.

It reminds her of her dream. She expels a breath. No, he didn’t do this on purpose. Midgar’s buildings are all the same—looking out into the far reaches of the world to remind everyone of how beautiful the world _could_ be, rather than what it truly is.

Cloud, seeing her staring, says, “Oh, I can lower the blinds.” He gestures to a slit in the ceiling beside the window. “They come down from there.”

_Right,_ she thinks, shaking her head.

“No, that wasn’t…I mean, I was just admiring it.” She gravitates toward the expanse of the window, but stops herself, glancing to her left and right. Off the entryway to the left is the kitchen, with an island and ample space for cooking. There are gas stove tops and double ovens. His fridge is paneled, camouflaged with the cabinetry surrounding it. A bar countertop runs along the outside of the kitchen, acting as a partition from the living space and lined with barstools. The living room consists of a long, simple wooden coffee table, a cream colored sofa, two matching side tables, a loveseat and recliner. Each is a neutral color, within the same palette and harmonizing together with creams and tans and browns. Standing lamps are placed along one side of the sofa and recliner, the metal necks dark bronze and the lampshades a mixed and aged orange and brown. It is bright yet warm, the cushions begging for someone to sit in them. A rug is situated underneath the furniture, holding a simple repeating pattern in gray and white, distinguishing continuity of the grays and white of the rest of the architecture.

There is a television mounted on the wall in front of the sofas, hanging above a long, delicate gas fireplace, surrounded by granite and glass. Everything is shiny and sparkles in the evening light.

“Did you decorate this place?” she asks, impressed with the layout and colors. It isn’t messy at all. She glances toward the hallway she spies behind the wall with the television, wondering what his bedroom looks like, wondering again if he color coordinates his closet.

“I bought it as is,” he says. “It came with the furniture. Made it easy.”

“Ah,” she says, nodding. “I like it. Did you buy it once you became CEO?”

He watches her walk around the space, going to unzip his jacket. He is standing in the entry hallway, hanging it up on the coat rack. He bends down to take off his boots. “Yeah,” he says. “About a year and a half ago.”

She stops in front of the window, sighing at the scenery. “It’s beautiful. I would love living here.”

“The view doesn’t get old,” he admits. “But it always feels far away. Like I’m far away from everyone.”

“You said you liked space,” she says, glancing back at him. Her eyes snag on the t-shirt he’s wearing underneath his jacket. It is a simple white cotton shirt, the short sleeves ending at the caps of his shoulders. It stretches over his chest, gently bunching around his torso.

“I do,” he says, his lips curving in a smirk. “I guess I have limits.”

She hums, admiring the cut of him before turning back to the window. “How’d you realize it?”

She hears him walk up behind her. He places his hands on her hips, and his chest presses against her back. There is a subdued heat between them, as there always seems to be. Her mind darts back to her dream—and how extraordinarily uncanny their positioning—but it feels divergent from their usual, crazed rush. His hands are gentle, further taming their ever present urgency in this moment in time.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles against her ear. “All at once.”

She lays her hand on top of his, observing their transparent reflection in the window. She smiles when they catch eyes, pressing her temple against his jaw.

“All at once?”

“Do you ever just wake up one day and realize…” he starts, breaking eye contact with her. “You don’t like where you are? That you don’t…want to be there?”

Her hands tighten on his. She stares at his face.

“Yes,” she says.

He catches her eye when she answers. He might be surprised she agrees with him. She can’t know for certain. Any other words to say elude her, twisted up in her heart.

“It’s like that,” he says softly, his words trickling into her ear. “I woke up one day and knew. I didn’t…like it. I didn’t…like a lot of things. I suddenly wanted it all to change.”

Her fingers begin curling around his own. She presses deeper into his chest. She wants protection from the words, and yet she wants to wrap herself up with them, because it is as if the words are pulled from her own chest. It is an uncomfortable friction flossing against her throat.

“What parts don’t you like?”

His shoulders curve around her. “I got my job because I thought it was what I needed,” he says, slowly, as if each word might be wrong. “It’s isolating. It’s busy. It’s a good challenge. That’s what I expected. What I didn’t expect—“

At that, he pauses. She feels him shrug against her. “I didn’t expect life not to be…what I imagined. Different. It wasn’t what I…thought.”

His words ring inside of her like an echo across an empty valley. The silence pervades the room, the sunlight waxing across the tiled floors of his condo. Her dad’s smile flashes across her eyes, and it is a battle waging within her constantly. It is the background noise of her life, now, like the high-pitched whine after an explosion.

Zangan’s sturdy, steadying voice reverberates through her. S _ee those incapabilities, greet them, know them, and accept them._

“Have you accepted it?” she asks. It is a deeply personal question, but she can’t help herself from wondering. It is so wrapped up in her, that one question, part of the fabric of her being. It doesn’t leave her alone.

It takes him a long minute to respond. “…No. I haven’t.”

She takes a slow breath, allowing the air to caress her lungs, attempting to keep her sudden leaden emotions at bay. It is something they share between them, she realizes, though the reasons are vastly different. He hasn’t elaborated, and she can ask, but that heightens the risk he might ask, too. It plucks at her threads—both the fear, and the other, smaller one, fraying with affection. She turns in his arms and reaches for his neck, staring at him before bringing him down into a kiss. His hands move across her back to tug her closer.

She’s mortified when she feels the tear fall down her cheek. It hits their lips, the salty tang a pungent shock. It breaks their kiss. Cloud looks at her, his brows pinching.

“Tifa, are you—“

“Where’s your bedroom?” she asks him urgently. It was only one tear, but she knows what her eyes might look like—a dark pink, the lining inflamed, the shine watery instead of sparkling and eager.

“It’s…through there,” he points absently toward a hallway. He reaches for her face, but she jerks, stepping back.

“Okay. Let’s go, then. Isn’t that why I’m here?” she asks, her emotions betraying her. It is not a snap or a jibe, but it sounds fake and light. She’s trying to push all of it back down into her trenches, because he’s looking at her with puzzlement, as if he’s trying to unravel her. It makes that thread of fear bright and taut, pulling inside from her brainstem to her toes.

She slips one of her hands into his, and she walks toward the hallway as if she knows where she’s going. He follows her without resistance.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“The scenery,” she says, the first and only thing she can utter. “It was too pretty.”

“Tifa—“

“Please, Cloud,” she whispers, her voice coming out like a plea. She hates it, and yet that’s all she can manage.

He says nothing more, allowing her to find his bedroom. The scent hits her in a wild waft as soon as she steps into it, ensconcing her with a thick wall of heat. It smells like his cologne—like the grasses of summer, the fresh beats of adventure. The wind whipped texture of skin.

He does not have many personal effects. He has a bed—a large bed, large enough for a king and several queens—a dresser, a desk, a television. Everything screams cleanliness, not even a rumple or wrinkle in his bedsheets. His comforter is so tight on his mattress, she’s certain she could bounce a quarter off it. He has a few pictures on his desk. He has a bedside lamp and an alarm clock. The glass wall continues into his room, the entirety of the left side overlooking the world, framed in a picture.

He wakes up to this every day, she thinks. Picturesque and lovely, and yet life continues to be something neither of them thought it would be.

His hand in hers is heated. She turns to face him, and he watches her as if she’s a powerpoint presentation, as if he’ll be quizzed over the projections and quarterly figures.

She reaches up, cradling the sides of his jaw in her hands. She pulls him down to her, kissing him roughly, the fervor seeping from her lips and into his mouth. He wraps his arms around her, coming around her back. They press together, his hips hitting her stomach, the coarse texture of his pants rubbing against her thighs. She curls her fingers against the nape of his neck, clinging to him, thinking about everything other than the life that surrounds her. She thinks about everything to do with Cloud. She thinks about how devastatingly handsome he looks in his driving attire, how his white shirt glows against his tanned arms, how she loves the way he looks in casual clothes almost as much as she does his suits.

His lines are changed in his room as she breaks away from him, pulling her shirt over her head and kicking off her sandals. They aren’t defined like they are in his dress shirts and slacks. He is curved and softened, smudged versus distinct.

His hands immediately come up to her ribs, pressing his palms into her. He steps forward and she steps back until her legs hit the edge of his bed.

“What do you want to do with me?” she whispers, faces close, their lips brushing one another.

His nose bumps hers and he makes a low noise, his hands falling to the band of her shorts. They’re elastic, and they peel down her legs with a few easy tugs of his fingers. She reaches behind to unhook her bra.

“Help you,” he says, and he leans forward to kiss her, at first gentle, then harder and harder, his teeth beginning to nick her lips before leaving them to bite at her neck.

The words take a moment to filter into her mind.

“What?” she asks breathlessly. “Help me?”

“Why were you crying?”

“It’s not—“ she tries, relishing the feel of his tongue gliding along her shoulder. “It’s nothing.”

“You can tell me.”

“Mm,” she says, trying to evade the emotions creeping into her. She pinches her eyes shut harder, roving her hands down to the bottom of his shirt. “You can help me by taking me on your bed.”

He growls into her skin at that, fingers finding her underwear and teasing at the band. “I can do that.”

He steps back for a fast moment, lifting the rest of his shirt overhead and throwing it to the side. He gently pushes her to lie down on the mattress, and she pushes onto her elbows to watch him watching her. His eyes blaze a trail from her eyes to her neck, to her chest and torso. They land on her underwear and stay there while he unbuttons his pants. Tifa feels herself pulsating, right where his eyes remain latched between her legs. Her breath comes quicker, and she feels the heat rising in her neck. She bites her bottom lip and pushes away the sensation of embarrassment, focusing on the burning of her middle, watching his hands push down his pants and the ridges of his body hit with the light of the setting sun.

He takes his time, staring at her while he pushes down his briefs. Her eyes follow his arousal, biting her lip harder, the thundering inside of her turning into a deep, ponderous ache.

He comes forward and reaches for the band of her underwear, and she lifts her hips automatically for him to take them off. Once they do, she’s ready for him to join her and crawl atop her, but he doesn’t. He stands beside the bed and takes her in, his lips parting a bit. She sees the shine against his mouth from their kisses, and the look he gives her makes her stomach tremble with anticipation.

“You told me you touched yourself in your work bathroom,” he says quietly, words slow and hushed. “I thought about it all day. I—“ he pauses, glancing away from her for a moment, before his eyes come back to land on her body. His cheeks are reddening, and he runs a hand over his jaw.

She stares at him, the chill of the room populating her skin with goosebumps, the terrifyingly electric look he’s giving her doing nothing to abate them. She’s so exposed, _so exposed,_ but his eyes gleam and admire her and she wants nothing more than—

“Cloud, please,” she whispers, going to sit up. “I want you.”

“I want _you,”_ he says, and he comes forward. She’s so ready for him when he runs his fingers along her folds. It is the barest friction, the barest touch, and she lies back at the sensation. When he backs away, she almost cries in protest.

“Cloud—“

Her words are strangled as she sees him use his wet fingers to run along his own length. He breathes out a tremulous sigh, sliding his palm along himself. Tifa can’t breathe as she observes him, the sight somehow the most wanton, inarticulate thing she’s ever seen.

Cloud Strife, touching himself in front of her.

Her toes curl. Her insides clench. She makes a noise at the back of her throat.

“Cloud—you—“

“I thought about you, and I had to stop fighting because…” he huffs, and she sees his stomach twitch, his eyes closing slightly and reopening while his hand moves up and down his arousal.

“You were distracted,” she says, her voice high and reedy. Her feet slide on the smooth comforter, bending her knees. She has to move. She has to do something. One of her hands squeezes into a fist while she watches, her heart ramming into her throat. She wants to go to him and take the place of his hand, but she can’t stop watching his jaw tighten, his throat bob in a swallow. “Cloud…”

“Show me,” he manages. “Show me how you did it.”

She breathes sharply at his words. Her eyes focus on his length, how he’s pleasuring himself, and the hand on her thigh continues to tighten. Her other hand is free, and the thought of what he’s asking—of what she’s going to do in front of him—

“You want me to…” she tries.

His pace is slow. His other hand comes up to his hair, as if he’s not sure what to do with it.

“Yeah,” he whispers.

“Okay,” she says shakily, moving her hand slowly down her torso. She hesitates briefly on her hip before she tries not to think, bringing her fingers down to the line of her arousal. As she presses slowly along her wet skin, she catches Cloud’s eye and can’t help the moan that escapes her. He’s looking at her with a crazed stare, hazy, completely scouring her like he’s shedding her skin.

She watches his pace and follows it, moving her fingers in time with his own. As she hits her clit, her knees begin to fall to the side. Her clenched fist moves up to her breast, then to the side of her face.

“Cloud,” she breathes. “Oh.”

“Goddamn, Tifa, you’re—“ he groans. He begins to quicken his pace. She follows it, allowing her fingers to dig inside of her. She matches his pleasure, and her hips begin to move on their own, imagining her fingers as his erection, burning up underneath his stare, letting the satisfaction of his confession and his fantasy roll over her. She is wet—too wet—so wet—and she watches him lose control from watching _her,_ his hand jerky and becoming out of sync.

Before he can come, he takes his hand away and stops. Tifa whimpers in protest, hearing herself say, “No, keep going. I want to see you.” She continues to pleasure herself, and Cloud breathes heavily.

“Not yet,” he says. “Are you close?”

Him talking to her this way makes her hips buck into her hand. “Y-yes, I am.”

“Good,” he says. “Let me.”

She obeys and takes her hand away. She waits for his fingers, but it’s even better when he crawls above her, positioning his arousal where she needs it.

“Gaia, Tifa, now I’ll always know what you look like when you use your hands.”

She shudders, running her hands along his arms before she feels him enter her without any other warning. She moans so loudly at the contact, she’d be embarrassed if she hadn’t just touched herself in front of him. Now, she can’t care about it. Not when she knows what he looks like, too, caressing himself with his hand, fantasizing about her when he’s alone. She can see it, him in that valley, agitated, killing a few fiends, sweaty and flushed, halting his fighting because of his arousal from _thinking about her._

She comes abruptly at the thought, his thrusts wild and freeing, the pressure brightly cutting through her. She claws at his back, her legs spread widely out to the sides.

“Cloud,” she mewls, his release cascading over her while she rides out her own.

He kisses her, pulling her up into him. They breathe into each other, unable to catch their breath in between the kissing. The euphoria runs through her brain like a meteor shower, brilliant and luminous and tantalizingly weaving itself into her limbs.

When they finally stop to look at each other, Tifa blinks dazedly up at him.

“I’ve never done that before,” she says.

“Neither have I,” he tells her, kissing her again. “I’m…uh…”

She grips his shoulders, bringing her legs around his waist. “That was really…”

“Hot?” he asks, his voice lilting in a tease. She huffs a laugh.

“Yeah. Hot.”

“I’ll do that for you anytime,” he says, his voice husky from the kissing.

“Even in your office?”

It’s mostly a jest. She feels his lips curl up against her in a smile.

“Where else?”

He kisses her deeper, and she moans.

“I could think of a few places,” she says.

“Tell me.”

“Um…” she begins. “The shower?”

He groans, moving to kiss her neck. “Yeah?”

“And…the bathtub.”

“We can do that.”

“Your…um…motorcycle.”

He pauses his kissing, glancing at her. His eyes darken, and he raises an eyebrow. “We can _definitely_ do that.”

She laughs a little before he continues kissing down her neck to her sternum. When he sucks at her breast, she whimpers.

“Everywhere,” she hums, running her hands up and down his back.

He trails down to her stomach, his teeth grazing against her ribcage, and she exhales, her skin perking up for him.

“Okay,” he whispers against her. “We will.”

* * *

They spend a very long time in his bed. The sky darkens and cascades into the room between them having sex and dozing. They tend to sleep for a handful of minutes before one of them wakes the other to begin again.

Tifa’s stomach growls as they recover from one of their go-rounds, and she blushes.

“Oh, I guess I’m hungry.”

“You can eat me if you want,” he answers.

Tifa smacks him before she starts laughing. “Cloud!”

He grins at her, and she stares at it—because she’s only ever seen him smile. She’s never seen it light up his whole face like this one. She’s never seen it so fully encompass his eyes.

They stare at each other for a long moment, his smile beginning to fade like the slow ending of a candle wick. She comes forward to kiss him again, and she rolls on top, wrapping her body around him until her stomach interrupts them with another growl. He huffs a laugh.

“Alright, let’s get some food,” he says, gently breaking away from her. She disentangles herself and agrees, venturing out of the bed and finding her clothes. She throws on her shorts and t-shirt, forgoing her underwear once she picks it up from the floor, flushing at how damp they still are. Cloud shoves a pair of sweatpants on and mentions he has some food in his fridge, then quickly suggests takeout for an easier option.

They spend time in the kitchen, Cloud opening his fridge and listing off the items that reside inside, from cheese to vegetables to chicken to frozen beef.

“Do you cook a lot?” Tifa asks, coming up behind him to look at the shelves lined with condiments and beer.

“I try. I’m not very good,” he admits.

“Hm.” She reaches into the crisper drawers, glancing over all the vegetables. “For a guy who doesn’t cook, you’re pretty well stocked.”

He makes a noncommittal noise. “It’s for show.”

She smiles, saying without thinking about it, “To impress all the girls you bring here?”

There’s a heavy blanket of silence following her words. Tifa feels it immediately, her skin chilling like the inside of the fridge. She turns to him to see him shift his weight, seemingly uncomfortable. He crosses his arms and she slowly closes the fridge doors, unsure how to salvage the lightheartedness that was so easily encompassing them the moment before.

“I don’t…do this very often,” he tells her.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to suggest…” she starts, averting her eyes and plucking at the bottom of her shirt. “I was just…”

“Uh, that’s okay,” he says, clearing his throat. He points to one of the menus pinned to the front of the fridge with a magnet. “Do you, uh, like Wutain? There’s a place that’s open twenty-four hours that’s good.”

She clutches onto that quickly. “Yeah, that sounds perfect.”

She spends a few minutes perusing the menu, Cloud already having a favorite order. Once he places it for delivery, they are again suspended in the silence. Tifa runs her hands over the kitchen countertop, trying to decide if it’s quartz or granite. Eventually, she says, “I like cooking. I could teach you a few recipes, if…you’d like.”

He seems to think about it, leaning against one end of the countertop, his arms slightly behind him and hands pressing against the counter. He glances at her up and down. “I might take you up on that.”

“I have a few easy ones that don’t take much time at all.”

He raises his brows at her. “You have any that would impress some girls?”

At his words, her cheeks start burning. He’s teasing her, she realizes.

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, very funny, Strife.”

“Didn’t you know I’m a playboy?”

She opens her mouth, narrowing her eyes at him. “You mean, not all CEOs invite girls over to their place?”

“I’m sure some do,” he says, smirking. “I only do it on special occasions.”

Her heart flutters at his words before she shakes her head at both him and her.“Sure. And what special occasions are those?”

He glances away, a red curl appearing across his cheeks. He shrugs. “Ah, you know. When I have to rewrite a contract in the middle of a merger.”

She smiles a little at him, leaning forward on the counter, propping herself with her elbows. “Oh, _that_ kind of special occasion.”

He eyes her. “Like I said. Doesn’t happen often.”

She tries not to think about the implication of his words—if he means what he says. There’s no reason for her _not_ to believe him. But the thought of being one of the only girls he’s allowed into his condo is…a momentous thing. Everything tightens up, and she scoffs as she blushes under his stare. It doesn’t help that he’s only in his sweatpants, his upper body bare and mesmerizing.

She pushes off the counter and walks around it towards where he stands. When she reaches him, she places her hands on his bare chest and leans up to kiss him. He brings his hands off the counter and grips at her waist, pressing them together. They move enough for her bottom to hit one of the cabinets, and he easily lifts her up to sit on the island. She makes a noise when he does, breaking away from him for a moment, then continuing to kiss him while he stands between her legs. She drags her nails down his chest, and he grunts.

“You think we could finish before delivery gets here?” he asks, completely serious. Tifa laughs and moans all at once.

“We can try.”

Fifteen minutes later, when Cloud opens the door to receive the food, his sweatpants are slung low on his hips, his chest is riddled with red streaks from Tifa’s nails, his hair fluffed and his cheeks rosy.

Tifa, for her part, is lying back against the kitchen counter, her shirt stretched and tugged in all different directions, her shorts hanging on her thighs, and her chest heaving while she tries to catch her breath.

“Don’t worry,” Cloud says, coming back into the kitchen while she sits up and pulls her shorts on. “The delivery guy was a dude.”

Tifa snorts, taking the bag from him and fixing up plates.

“Oh, good. A girl would have fainted.”

Cloud grins again. Tifa tries to memorize it in the moment before she looks away, because the strum of fear resounds within her, and she wonders—she wonders if this can last.

She wonders if she can go on without it.

* * *

When they’ve eaten their fill, they lounge on the sofa in his living room, spent, exhausted, and warm with stretched stomachs. They’ve turned the television on to watch while they ate, only half-paying attention, occasionally catching eyes but eating in relative quiet. They sit beside each other, one of Cloud’s arms hanging on the back of the sofa, one leg propped on the coffee table. Tifa’s found herself curled up in his side, her head resting on his shoulder. Her eyes are heavy as she fights away the sleep.

“You okay with staying here? Or do you want to go home?” he asks her softly.

Tifa sighs. She should go home. She shouldn’t spend the night. She has no toiletries of her own. If she wakes up beside him in the morning, then…

Then what?

The intimacy of it frightens her. Strangely, after everything else they’ve done to each other, sleeping in his bed through the night is what scares her the most.

“Um…” she trails. “Would it be okay if I…go home?”

There is a quiet three second pause, and Tifa’s stomach fills with dread before he says, “Sure.”

“Not that I wouldn’t like to stay,” she says, suddenly much more awake. “I…I just…”

“It’s okay, Tifa,” he tells her. “I don’t mind. You don’t have to explain.”

She turns her head to look at him. When they catch eyes, his face softens. He reaches up with his other hand to thumb her cheek.

Her mouth parts. He is gentle, no matter what anyone else says about him. “Thank you.”

He nods at her and drops his hand. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

She curls up with him a little while longer, relishing the warmth and the fullness, and trying not to worry about the future.

* * *

“So, you’re telling me you banged your CEO in his super expensive condo approximately four hundred and fifty-two times in one sitting?”

They are at brunch, again, that next Sunday. Tifa sucks up her screwdriver through a straw, buying time for her cheeks to stop flushing.

Jessie dramatically falls back against her seat, placing a hand on her forehead.

“He drove you over there on his motorcycle,” Aerith sighs dreamily.

“I swear, Tifa, you two are sex monsters, and I love that you have come to life this way,” Jessie says, raising her bloody mary in the air. “So, next thing. Do you love him, yet?”

Tifa inhales, choking on her drink. Yuffie pats her on the back to help her, shaking her head.

“No! Of course I don’t!” Tifa splutters, coughing a few more times.

“Did you hear how quick she said that?” Aerith says, grinning deviously.

“Pretty quick,” Jessie agrees.

“Too quick,” Yuffie states.

Tifa narrows her eyes at all of them. “Sex isn’t _love_ , you guys.”

“Nope,” Jessie says, grinning. “But if Richard’s taught me anything, it’s that good sex can help it along.”

“Very wise, Jessie,” Aerith nods, giggling.

Tifa sighs, shaking her head. “I don’t…you guys know I’m not ready for that. And he’s my boss! After the merger, who knows what’ll happen. He’s doing this because he’s stressed. It’s an outlet. That’s all.”

Yuffie throws her arms out to the side. “Look, ready or not, emotions don’t care and life doesn’t care, Teef. We _all_ know that.”

Aerith’s soft smile begins to turn solemn. “Timing is important, too. A lot of things are happening for you, Tifa, but what if this is the best thing that _can_ happen? In the midst of it all?”

Tifa pinches her brows together, sucking on her screwdriver again. She doesn’t like thinking about it, but they’re right. She should think about it optimistically. She shouldn’t be so…afraid.

“Pftt, and what’s so bad about that anyway, Tifa?” Jessie grins, placing her elbows on the table. “Doesn’t mean you’ll marry him. Loving some dick isn’t going to harm anything. Life is short.”

They all look at her, smiling.

That’s the sticking point. Life is short. They’ve all learned that in some form or fashion.

She takes a breath. “I can’t…” she pauses. She takes one more slug of her drink. “I can’t handle both. My dad _and_ Cloud? No.” She shakes her head. “I don’t want to _have_ to handle both, if it comes down to it.”

Yuffie grumbles. “Hey, listen up, Teef. You can’t let the fear of the unknown stop you. When have you ever let it?”

“She’s right,” Aerith says, reaching out to place her hand over Tifa’s. “You’re unstoppable.” She glances around the table. “You’re all the strongest girls I know.When one of us falls, we’ll be there to catch you. We promised, right?” She grins.

Jessie lifts her drink in the air. “Fuck yeah, we did. Chicks before dicks until the end.”

Yuffie whoops. “No matter what happens, Tifa, don’t be afraid. He’s just a boy. Do you know how many boys there are in the world? Too many.”

Tifa smiles at them. _Just a boy._ She laughs and clinks her glass against Jessie’s.

“Thanks for the pep talk. I needed it.”

“Always,” Aerith winks. “Besides, if he hurts you, we will all collectively kick his ass.”

“Duh,” Jessie says.

“Hell yeah, we will,” Yuffie snickers. “Or, I guess Tifa could do it on her own, but…that’s not as fun.”

“Hey, so on the topic of boys…” Aerith trails, giving Jessie a knowing look. “How’s _Richard_ doing?”

Jessie raises her eyebrows at Aerith before she waggles them and grins salaciously.

Yuffie guffaws. “Omigawd, can we _please_ talk about how you just said Richard has taught you _good sex_ can help _love along._ Um. Spill it, Raspberry.”

Jessie opens her mouth before she laughs, splaying her hands on the table.

“Okay. Are you guys ready for an explosive sex story that will light your underwear on fire?” She pauses, pointing at Tifa. “I don’t know if it’s as hot as CEO sex, but it’s pretty spicy.”

They all gasp around the table. “Jessie!” Tifa exclaims. “Why didn’t you tell us at the beginning?”

Yuffie smashes her cheek in her hand, leaning her elbow on the table. “I am ready for this.”

Aerith claps her hands, her eyes sparkling in glee. “What’s his real name?”

Jessie clears her throat, becoming the ever consuming presence of leading lady. “It all started when we were getting ready for the fifth rehearsal. This was the first sex scene were were going to practice. And I said, why don’t we go bareback for fun? That way it won’t be as embarrassing when we have to do it in front of the audience.”

Tifa and Aerith giggle with each other while Yuffie shouts, “Yes, you did!”

“At first, he was very prim and proper, you know, ever the leading man,” Jessie says rolling her eyes but grinning. “Then I said, “Your name is Biggs, already. You afraid you won’t live up to it?’”

The girls guffaw and push up against one another.

“What did he say to that?” Tifa asks. Aerith grips her hand in pure joy. Yuffie laughs madly.

“Oh, you know, he spluttered around and blushed, and it was _so cute._ And then he came up to me after we ran through our lines and said, ‘You can come to my place, if you want.’”

The girls all titter around, eyes gleaming.

“And then!” Jessie says, raising a hand. “You better believe he lived up to his name.“

Yuffie wrangles Jessie’s neck in a headlock. Tifa and Aerith grin at each other.

Jessie spends the rest of brunch detailing her sexual experiences, much to the chagrin of the waiter, who always seems to refill their carafe every time Jessie says _penis._

* * *

Monday morning, Tifa arrives at her office rejuvenated and feeling ready for the day. She pulls up the portfolios, sends emails, and gets to work, occasionally glancing at the calendar on her desk. The big merger date is starred and highlighted, astoundingly closer. Time has been flying by, and it both gives Tifa excitement and a whiff of nerves every time she looks at it.

The day is a blur of static activity. Just about finished with one of the logos, she writes down the last additional comments over it and forwards it to Finn for the final touches. He’s one of the employees who has really stepped up during the entirety of the merger, his artistry unparalleled and his ideas insightful and creative.

When the knock on her door happens after midday, Tifa calls for them to come in. She glances up when her door opens, half-expecting it to be Cloud—and finding herself hit with a sudden disappointment that it’s not.

It’s quickly replaced with a shockwave of joy.

_“Aerith?”_ Tifa exclaims, jaw dropping. “What are you doing here? You didn’t text me.”

“I missed you, of course!” Aerith says, a grin splitting her face in two. Her eyes are sparkling, even more effervescent than usual. Tifa goes to stand, and that’s when she notices what’s in Aerith’s hand.

Tifa blinks.

“I _also_ have a very special delivery!”

A single stargazer lily sitting in a thin, crystal vase is held against Aerith’s chest. Instead of the usual bright drip of yellow, however, the lily is a deep fuchsia, with black spots freckling the inside of the petals.

A small, square paper is attached to the stem.

“What…” Tifa asks, looking at her with furrowed brows. “That’s for me?”

“Of course it’s for you!” Aerith says, laughing. She pads into her office and stops in front of her. “And you will not believe the story I’m about to tell you.”

Tifa opens her mouth, then she closes it. She hedges, “Is this from…”

“Nope!” Aerith says, and she must see the flash of dismay cross Tifa’s face because she hurriedly says, “It’s not from Al.”

Tifa blinks again, laughing. She shakes her head. “That’s good news.”

“But you know who it _is_ from,” Aerith says, nudging Tifa with her elbow, holding out the glass for Tifa to take. Tifa does, handling it with care. She fingers the piece of paper, her eye catching on the black ink on the inside.

“Cloud?” Tifa asks.

At Aerith’s continued grin, Tifa feels the warm rush she’s trying not to become accustomed to.

“It is definitely from Cloud,” she says. “Are you ready for the story? Let’s sit.”

Tifa places the flower on her desk, and her and Aerith grab the chairs off to the other side of the room, bringing them closer to her desk. Aerith clasps her hands together.

“So, at 11:32 am today, a one-of-a-kind Cloud Strife walked into my flower shop…” Aerith says, setting the tone with her lilting voice. Tifa cracks a smile at her antics, leaning back into her chair.

“And when I saw him, I swear I gasped. He looked at me with his scary stare—you know, the one you’re so fond of?”

Tifa rolls her eyes. “You mean the one that looks like an ink stain?”

“The exact one!” Aerith exclaims. “So, I composed myself and said, as if I didn’t know everything about his bedside manner, ‘May I help you, sir?’”

Tifa starts chuckling. “Bedside manner?”

“And he glanced around the shop looking _utterly_ lost, poor thing. He hesitated for a moment and said, ‘Yes, but I’m not sure what I’m looking for.’”

Tifa tilts her head, leaning forward a bit toward Aerith.

“So I said, knowing exactly who he was thinking about staring at all the pretty flowers around, ‘Why don’t you describe the person you’re shopping for, and I’ll lead the way.’ And do you know what he said, Tifa?”

Tifa sits up straighter in her chair, sending a sideways glance at the unassuming flower on her desk. “What did he say?”

“He said, and I quote, ‘Beautiful and strong, caring and intelligent.’ Tifa! I just about _died_.”

Tifa swallows, blood rushing to her face. She curls her hands into fists in her lap.

“Oh, that’s…really nice.”

Aerith makes a high-pitched noise. “I recovered and said, ‘Oh, sounds like a lovely person,’ because you know I don’t assume gender. And get this—he said, ‘A lovely lady.’ A lovely lady! I died _again!”_

Tifa begins to smile at Aerith’s reaction, trying not to be overwhelmed by the information.

“He’s…sweet.”

“Yeah, sweet is one word for it,” Aerith says, the grin on her face crinkling her eyes. “So I led him to the stargazers, because they mean a lot of things. I started to list them off, but when I said _fulfillment of dreams,_ I saw his face change. It was like it dawned on him, and that was it. He was sold. So when I asked him if he wanted a dozen, he said, ‘No, I’ll just have the one.’ And of course I _had_ to ask why, and he said, ‘She doesn’t like attention. I figured it would be better this way.’” Aerith shakes her head, clasping her hands by her heart. “He listened to what you said about Al. He didn’t want there to be a lot of attention on you, but he still wanted to send you something. What a romantic, huh?”

Tifa finds that she’s staring at the flower. “Y-yeah. A romantic. I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

“Then I told him I’d hand deliver it to make sure I was _very discreet._ And guess what! He paid the price of a dozen as a _thank you.”_ She laughs. “He’s bonkers. I couldn’t _wait_ to tell you.”

Tifa bites her lip, her mouth curling up into a smile regardless. She twists her fingers together, unsure of what to do with the information.

“I’m…I don’t know. This is a very kind thing for him to do.”

“He’s definitely wooing you, Tifa. I said he was hooked, and I meant it.”

Tifa breathes a laugh, her chest tight as she reaches for the flower. She gently unties the note and says, “Well, let me see what he wrote.”

Unsure of what to anticipate, Tifa unfolds the delicate piece of cardstock.

_Maybe life will begin to fulfill your dreams instead of breaking them._

_Maybe you’ll wake up one day and realize you love where you are._

_P.S. This isn’t from the IT department._


	10. X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! This is just me saying thank you to everyone who has read this, commented, talked to me, let me know how y'all felt, etc. I always love hearing your thoughts and feelings, and the support is always so amazing and fantastic and I can't ever say enough about it. 
> 
> Shoutout again to the lovely [kotaface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aveyune23/pseuds/kotaface) because she makes everything SO. MUCH. BETTER. If you get the chance, read her stuff and tell her how phenomenal she is, because she _is_. 
> 
> Happy reading! I hope you enjoy this one!

Tifa stares at the note. She reads over the words four times before Aerith says, “I couldn’t help myself.”

Tifa blinks, looking up at her. “Couldn’t help yourself?”

“I read it.” Aerith smiles sheepishly before her smile falls and she leans forward to grab Tifa’s hand. “Oh, Tifa, it’s okay.”

Tifa shakes her head, turning her face away from Aerith. She can’t believe she’s about to _cry_ over a _note_ on a _flower._

“I’m fine. It’s just…really nice, that’s all.”

Aerith tilts her head at Tifa, giving her a soft smile. “Did you talk to him about your dad?”

Tifa shakes her head, placing the vase back on her desk. She runs the back of her palm across her eyes. “No. We talked a little bit, but…nothing specific.”

“You must have inspired him, then.” Aerith pats her hand, beginning to grin again as Tifa recovers. 

“Maybe so.”

Aerith stands and comes forward to wrap Tifa up in a hug. Tifa hugs her tightly back. 

“I know we were teasing you yesterday,” Aerith tells her, standing back from her and holding Tifa’s shoulders in her hands. “But he certainly wants you for more than just sex.”

Tifa tries to smile, but she’s too overwhelmed to do anything but sigh and shake her head. “I…yeah. I guess he does.”

Aerith kisses her cheek before leaving, demanding she text the group about any and all updates between the two of them. Tifa laughs and assures her she will. When Aerith leaves, Tifa falls back into her office chair, staring at the flower. 

Tifa spends too long overanalyzing how she should text Cloud. She thinks about saying, _Thank you so much! I love it!_ But that doesn’t sound like her. She thinks about, _I got your flower. Your note made me cry._ Nope. 

She types out, _No one has ever sent me something so thoughtful._ She thinks about this one for a long time. She stares at it, her index finger hovering over the send button. Ultimately, she deletes it. It feels too…close. In the end, she settles on something simple, and she already knows she’ll laugh about how long it took her to form the short response. 

**Tifa:** _I received the flower. Thank you. It is very lovely._

**Cloud:** _Don’t mention it._

She can easily imagine him shrugging off her text. She wonders if he’s smiling.

**Tifa:** _The note was lovely, too._

**Cloud:** _The flower shop owner was helpful._

Tifa grins, making a mental tab to tell Aerith.

**Tifa:** _Can I see you today?_

**Cloud:** _How about tomorrow? I have a few things I need to finish tonight. A meeting or dinner?_

Tifa contemplates the words. She thinks about having dinner with him on a weeknight. It almost seems…unfathomable. The work week feels like a different universe than the weekends. 

**Tifa:** _Whatever’s easiest for you._

**Cloud:** _Dinner. We’ll have more time._

Tifa stares at the text, holding back a sigh. 

**Tifa:** _I can teach you how to cook._

**Cloud:** _I’d like that. Be patient with me. I have no idea what I’m doing in the kitchen._

**Tifa:** _You’re a fast learner. You’ll do just fine._

**Cloud:** _With you as my teacher, I’m sure I’ll be more than fine._

Tifa laughs at that, rolling her eyes at the phone.

**Tifa:** _Okay, Romeo. What food do you like?_

**Cloud:** _I’ll eat whatever you want to make me._

**Tifa:** _No, you can’t do that. Pick three types of food._

**Cloud:** _Alright. Pasta. Fried. Midgarian._

**Tifa:** _Very refined._

**Cloud:** _My tastes are pretty simple._

Tifa smiles. The more she gets to know him, the less and less he seems like an almighty figurehead. 

**Tifa:** _My place or_

She stops typing. She backspaces. 

**Tifa:** _We can start with pasta?_

**Cloud:** _Sounds good to me. My place?_

Tifa sighs, feeling simultaneously like she dodged a bullet and like she’s the biggest coward in the world. Cloud texts again in succession. 

**Cloud:** _I have food I should cook before it goes bad._

**Tifa:** _Good idea. Meet in the garage after work?_

**Cloud:** _If you’re okay with other employees seeing us leaving together._

Tifa bites her lip. She hadn’t thought of that. 

**Tifa:** _Never mind._

**Cloud:** _I’ll come to your office. We can waste time before leaving. Make sure everyone is gone._

Tifa blushes at the words. She bites the nail of her thumb, thinking of what to send back. 

**Tifa:** _You want to know the color of my underwear, don’t you?_

**Cloud:** _Like I said. I have simple tastes._

**Tifa:** _I don’t know if that’s accurate._

**Cloud:** _When it comes to you, it is._

Tifa begins smiling, trying to stop the lightness spreading through her. She wants to laugh. 

**Tifa:** _I’m flattered. That makes it easy to please you._

**Cloud:** _That’s true. You don’t have to do much._

Tifa finds herself rolling her eyes again.

**Tifa:** _You don’t, either._

**Cloud:** _I don’t?_

**Tifa:** _No, you don’t, but you sent me a flower anyway._

**Cloud:** _Couldn’t help it._

**Tifa:** _It’s sitting on my desk. I’ll be staring at it all day._

**Cloud:** _That was my ulterior motive. Force you to think about me._

Tifa laughs at that. 

**Tifa:** _You didn’t think I was already?_

**Cloud:** _I hoped you did._

**Tifa:** _You no longer have to hope, Strife._

**Cloud:** _Good to know, Lockhart._

Tifa sighs, staring at the words. She doesn’t realize how dreamily she’s smiling until a minute later, and then she scoffs at herself and attempts to get back to work.

She’s derailed from it, however, as she finds herself looking up different motorcycle helmets, reading reviews, and making lists from the multitude of brands. She stars the one that looks the most Cloud-like, and places it in her shopping cart before she decides to input his address and clicks the _place order_ button without any further thought, laughing as soon as she receives the emailed receipt. 

* * *

The next morning, she receives his text once she’s settled in the office. 

**Cloud:** _I guess I didn’t change your mind._

The message is followed by the picture of the motorcycle helmet she had ordered him. 

Tifa grins. 

**Tifa:** _Nope. You were very persuasive, though._

**Cloud:** _You’re crazy._

**Tifa:** _Only because of you_

Tifa types it out without thinking about it. She stares at the words. 

He _does_ make her crazy. 

She erases the message and starts again. 

**Tifa:** _If you think I’m crazy, you should meet my friends. They’re worse._

**Cloud:** _That’s terrifying._

Tifa begins smiling, imagining what a meeting between Cloud and the girls would look like. She nearly laughs. Cloud would be eaten alive. 

**Cloud:** _You’re not THAT crazy, though. Just enough._

Tifa quirks her eyebrow at his second response. 

**Tifa:** _Is there an adequate amount of crazy someone should be?_

**Cloud:** _I think so. I’ve realized normal is overrated. Crazy makes the world go round._

**Tifa:** _Oh, that’s why the earth is tilted, too, isn’t it?_

**Cloud:** _You got it._

Tifa laughs, placing her phone to the side. She pulls up the few leftover projects that she’s finishing. The rest have been sent to her team to clean up and revamp. She opens the file holding Shiva and Ifrit, who both now look livelier than ever with their lines, shadows, and saturation. Tifa examines Shiva’s icy glare underneath her pale blue eyelids, and she glances over Ifrit’s fiery snarl and the golden amber of his irises. 

They’ve kept the first idea with them swirling around each other in the yin and yang structure, but Tifa added Shiva’s hand clasping Ifrit’s ragged claw. Shiva’s ice runs up in glowing rivulets into Ifrit’s wrist. Ifrit’s red fire blazes trails along Shiva’s knuckles and the delicate grooves of her fingers. 

Tifa thumbs her phone, inspired by the image encompassing her computer screen. 

**Tifa:** _I’m looking forward to seeing you today._

**Cloud:** _Me too._

Cloud responds again a minute later. 

**Cloud:** _And not just because of the underwear._

Tifa glances at her flower, still open and fresh and vibrant against the other colors of her office. She rubs a finger over her chest, feeling the warm palm of emotion gripping that long, taut thread inside of her. It’s probably as warm as Ifrit’s claw in Shiva’s hand. 

**Tifa:** _Good answer._

**Cloud:** _I aim to please._

Tifa chuckles, grabbing her digital pen, and falls into the rhythm of work. 

* * *

Cloud knocks on her door at 4:30 pm. He opens the door slightly, leaning against the door jamb and peeking his head through. 

“Are you free to discuss a few things, Ms. Lockhart?” he asks. 

She glances up at him, smiling. When their eyes catch, her heart shimmies into her throat. 

“I believe I am, Mr. Strife.”

He strides in, locking the door behind him. He absorbs her with a generous eyeful as he walks up to her desk. His gaze strays to the flower, and he smiles. 

She stands to meet him in front of her desk. She clasps her hands behind her back, and he places his in his pockets. 

“How was your day?” she asks, glancing from his lips to his eyes.

“Just fine. Can’t complain,” he answers. “How was yours?”

She lifts a shoulder in a light shrug. “The usual. Better now.”

A smirk creeps up along his lips. He takes one hand out of his pocket, reaching up to brush a strand of hair out of her face. He leans forward to kiss her, and she releases her hands from behind her back, dragging one hand along his chest and up to his collar. He’s wearing a blue shirt today, and Tifa wants to laugh. Instead, she smiles into his kiss, and he breaks away, glancing at her. 

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” she says. “Just that we match.”

He looks down at her clothes and frowns. “No, we’re not.”

She continues smiling at him. It takes him a moment before it dawns on him. His face slackens in realization before he begins to smile—and it is such a devious curve on his lips that Tifa’s mouth parts. She gives it a generous eyeful of her own. 

“Oh,” he says, his voice somehow silky and dark, just like his tie. “Blue Tuesdays.”

“Mm.” She reaches behind his neck and toys with the hair at his nape. She twines it in her fingers as she kisses him. One of his hands grabs her hip and the other moves up her torso, cupping her breast. 

“Why blue today? Any reason?” he asks, pressing his thumb against the soft cup of her bra. Her nipples harden at the sensation. 

“Blue is supposed to be a sad color,” she breathes, opening her mouth to kiss him deeper. “Tuesday is still so far from the weekend. My least favorite day.”

“Blue’s not that bad,” Cloud says, voice hushed. 

“No, it’s not,” she says, gasping when his hand leaves her breast to find the side of her skirt zipper, dipping underneath. It loosens enough to fall down her legs, a light puff echoing in the room as it hits the ground. “You’re changing my mind.”

“Hm,” he groans, his fingers trailing up her torso underneath her shirt. “Good. I’ll change it more.”

When they divest their shirts, Cloud stares at her bra. It’s a deep royal blue, a darker shade than his shirt. When his eyes dart back to hers, it shoots down into her toes. “It’s a good color on you,” he says, reaching forward again, hands as greedy as his mouth as he kisses her. “A shame we need to take it off.”

She laughs, and when he unclasps it from behind her, she moans into his ear when their chests rub together. 

“I’ll wear it more often,” she says. “It’s growing on me.”

His hands dip underneath her underwear, squeezing her bottom. One of her hands slips into the small space between his lower abs and his pants. He groans into her when she touches him. 

“No belt today,” she whispers. 

“Easier access,” he answers. She smiles into his lips, his tongue delicately meshing with her own. She grips him, running her palm up and down slowly, and he grabs her ass hard enough to make her gasp into a moan. 

“Where?” she asks, releasing him and allowing herself to rub against him. He presses her hips into his, and they grind against each other. The friction between their clothes is merciless. 

“Anywhere,” he growls, tilting her up and down. 

“Oh, shit,” she says, the curse slipping out of her throat at the newness of sensation. Her underwear clips against his pants, and it is rough and needy and quick. “Oh—I don’t know—if—“ she cries. 

“You can come, Tifa,” he tells her, and at that, he lifts one of her legs around his hips. The friction increases, the surface area wider. The hidden length of him hits the entire seam of her, trapped behind her underwear. 

“Oh, but I don’t—oh, Cloud,” she says, closing her eyes and allowing the pleasure to rock her. He presses her into him, and the force of it hits her clit again and again. She spasms, and the orgasm is so sudden and abrupt, she has to clench his shoulders to keep from falling over. 

She breathes through it. “I—I’m—sorry,” she stutters, holding herself against him. He helps ease her leg down, but one hand is still across her back, holding her in place. “I—didn’t mean to—“

“No, Tifa, don’t be sorry,” he says, and she can hear the laugh behind his words. “Never be sorry.”

“But we didn’t even—“

“We didn’t have to,” he says, kissing her softly. He looks down at her, and she realizes her cheeks are flushed from both the exertion and embarrassment. She blinks, turning her head away. 

“Um…well…did you…”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, checking his watch. “We still have time to do other things.” 

He smiles at her easily, but she frowns. She immediately goes to reach for his groin, and his smile falters as she takes him in her hand. 

“Yeah,” she says, her voice husky in her own ears. “We have time.”

* * *

They arrive at his apartment a little after 5:30, the drive filled with the euphoric haze of post-orgasmic pleasure. They take off their shoes in his entryway, straying into the kitchen. Cloud takes off his suit jacket and places it over a barstool, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves. Tifa goes to his fridge and opens it, examining which vegetables are on the verge of rot and death. 

She hums under her breath, taking out a head of broccoli and a bag of spinach, a few of the leaves a darker, wetter green. 

“I brought a few seasonings just in case you didn’t have them…” she says, continuing to dig in his fridge. The carrots look fine, and they usually keep well. She’s surprised when she finds zucchini sitting unobtrusively in the back of the drawer. They are cold and firm and unlikely to go bad anytime soon. “Do you have any garlic?”

Cloud comes up behind her. “Uh, yeah, in the pantry.”

He points to the pantry door and she goes to it, having to choke back a gasp when she sees how large it is. It is walk in with a multitude of shelves, almost like a closet. She stares in the doorway before she recovers, glancing over all of his ingredients. “This is amazing,” she says, eyes taking it all in. Bread. Too many boxes of cereal. Potato chips. Fruit snacks? Tifa pauses over them, laughing and picking out the box. 

“I used to eat these all the time when I was a kid,” she says. 

She looks up to see Cloud in the doorway, running a hand along the back of his neck. 

“Yeah, me too. I never grew out of them.”

She continues, her eyes roving over a few cans of vegetables—corn, green beans. She finds his flour and sugar, a fewfew bottles of seasoning, salt, pepper, and the pasta and rice. She reaches for the pasta noodles, all of them spaghetti. She eventually finds a hidden bulb of garlic, sniffing it and deeming it palatable. No telling how long it’s been in the corner of the shelf. 

Collecting everything she’ll need, Tifa directs Cloud to gather different kitchen utensils—knives, cutting boards, one pot and one pan. 

“Don’t worry, it’ll all be in this pot in the end,” she says, noticing the endearingly overwhelmed look on his face. 

“Uh, sure,” he says. “Just tell me what to do.”

Tifa instructs him to fish out the chicken from the freezer and set it to defrost in the microwave. She fills a deep pot with water for the pasta, setting it over the back corner gas burner. She places a wider, flatter pan for the vegetables and chicken on a front burner. Then she shows him how to begin cutting the broccoli, teaching him which directions to use for cutting and the best knife. It seems easy enough for him, and Tifa isn’t surprised considering his sword-wielding hobbies. She begins dicing the chicken once it’s done defrosting, turning on the heat for the pan on the stove, oiling it, showing him the best way to season the chicken before tossing it onto the stove. Cloud watches her and then tries to mimic her when she asks him, laughing lightly at his grimace when his hands are full of chicken juice after tossing.

“It’s not that bad, Strife,” she says.

“The texture is disgusting,” he answers, holding his hands in front of him as he goes to the sink to wash them. 

“Says the guy who hunts monsters.”

“That’s different,” he says. “I don’t season and eat them.”

Tifa laughs again. 

Once the chicken begins sizzling in the pan, Tifa goes back to the fridge, eyeing a head of romaine lettuce and tomatoes. 

“We could make salad, too, if you’d like,” she says, glancing over her shoulder to him. “It’ll keep for a couple of days so you can eat it this week.”

When she catches his eye, she notices he’s simply staring at her, his arms crossed over his chest. The blue of his shirt makes his eyes glow. She turns back to the fridge, sighing. 

“Sure,” he says. “Salad is fine.”

She takes out the vegetables, placing the romaine and tomatoes on the cutting board beside the broccoli. She demonstrates a few cuts for him to perform. When he satisfies her with the technique, she checks on the chicken, stirring it around a little.

“I’ll show you an easy way to avoid smelling like garlic,” she says. “Once the chicken is done.”

“Mm,” he answers her, the noise an acknowledgement more than anything else. A minute or two passes before Cloud comes up behind her. He rests his hands on her hips, pressing his jaw beside her temple. 

“Almost done?” he asks her. 

Tifa’s grip on the wooden spoon tightens. “Just about.”

He watches her stir for a moment before he lowers her head and kisses her neck. One of his hands runs along her torso, the other one pressing her bottom further into him so that she can feel his arousal. 

“Good,” he says. “I finished cutting the vegetables.”

She sighs, allowing her head to fall to the side, his mouth more able to have ample access to her skin. 

“I knew you’d be a natural at that.”

“Hm.” His hands roam over her stomach, and she stops stirring the chicken, placing the wooden spoon off to the side. “I think Tuesdays are my favorite,” he tells her, his voice rumbling into her ear. 

“Why’s that?” she asks.

“Because you’re in my kitchen, teaching me how to cook.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, nuzzling her neck. He reaches one hand out to turn off the burners. “Let’s break.”

“But the pot just started to boil, and I have to put the pasta in—“ she starts, moaning when his fingertips slip past her skirt.

“It’ll have time to boil later,” he says, unzipping and pushing her skirt further down her thighs. 

“Hm. Yeah. Okay,” she mutters, easily allowing him to take over. His hands dip further to her underwear, slipping underneath the band. Her back arches when he gets closer to her, her bottom pressing forcefully into his groin. He grunts and nibbles at her earlobe, and he pushes along the tender seam between her legs. She gasps sharply, widening her stance. His fingers glide against her, his palm pressing against the curve right above her clit. She moans, reaching above and behind her to find the back of his head, tangling her fingers into the feathered strands of his hair. 

He continues kissing her neck, biting at the juncture by her shoulder. She moves one hand away from him, fumbling with the buttons of her shirt. He helps her slide it off, then he immediately turns her away from the stove to the countertop beside it. He continues to pleasure her with his fingers and his palm, and now free of her skirt, Tifa spreads her legs a little wider, leaning forward and pressing her hands into the counter. She feels his length against the line of her bottom, and she mewls as his fingers slip deeper and deeper into her. 

“Tifa,” he says, the hand gripping her hip disappearing. She hears him unzip his pants, and she moans at the sound. 

“Yes,” she answers, arching her back when she feels him bare behind her. “Oh, please.” 

His arousal takes the place of his hands, gliding along her wet skin, the tip of him touching her clit. He slides himself along her folds, hitting the deep grooves. She pants, one hand reaching up to one of the cabinet handles. She grips it tightly in her hand, closing her eyes and concentrating on the feel of him. When he slides into her, she cries and leans further forward, the fullness deliciously different at the angle. He taps a bundle inside of her, and it shocks and zaps, and she cries again. 

“Oh, Cloud, keep doing that,” she breathes, her fingers curling. “Don’t stop.”

“I’m not,” he grunts. His thrusts evolve, hitting harder and faster and ricocheting against her every time. 

“Gaia,” she hisses. His hands grip her hips and pull her against him in time with his jerks. “Mm. _Oh.”_ Her back arches further. 

“Shiva, you’re tight and wet and _fuck._ ”

She moans, the rough edge of his voice pushing into her as deeply as he is. “Cloud—touch me. Please. I need you to—“

She cuts off when a hand leaves her hip, coming around in front of her. His fingers find her clit, and she almost loses her mind. The swell of his touch is an endless pressure, and it climbs and climbs, higher and higher, the oxygen becoming thin. 

“Tifa,” he breathes. “I’m going to—come. Come with me.”

He presses his fingers harder, pushes into her faster. She grips the counter as if it’s her only handhold on the earth. Her back arches further, and she feels him break. Her thread snaps right after, hearing his deep, low groan like the bass of a song, like the rolling thunder along the plains. It is a beautiful sound, so natural and vulnerable, and she rides her orgasm like it’s high tide, crashing into the cliff faces of her soul. 

They catch their breath for a minute or two, Tifa’s arms shaking on the counter. She feels her sweat beading on her spine, her heart whipping in her chest. She pushes herself up slowly, and Cloud’s hands come around her, holding her waist. 

“You good?” he says into her ear. 

She smiles at that, beginning to laugh. She places her hands on top of his and squeezes them. “I’m more than good, Cloud.”

He kisses her cheek, and she reaches for his face, turning hers to find his lips and kiss them. Then she turns in his arms and kisses him some more. 

“We’re flithy,” she says breathlessly. 

“Mm,” he moans. “Are you hungry, or…”

“Not hungry,” she says. “But I’d kill for a shower.”

His hands knead into her bottom. He deepens their kiss. 

“Let’s take one, then.”

She breaks away from him, and Cloud shoves his pants the rest of the way off. He is still wearing his shirt, his sleeves pushed up on his forearms, the blue of his eyes like brilliant stars in his face. Grinning, Tifa grabs his hand, and they nearly run to his master bathroom. It is almost like a second home in his condo, with how spacious the vanity, how massive the tub. The shower is a glass case, a multitude of jets lining the walls, and a rainfall shower head hovering along the top. Cloud goes in and turns the knob before coming back to her, kissing her for a moment then stepping away. He gazes at her with a glazed expression.

“Cloud,” she starts. “Why is there a sofa in your bathroom?”

He cracks a grin at that, shaking his head. “Ask the interior decorator.”

She grabs his head and brings him down in a rough kiss. She’s burning up with desire. The sofa, the shower, the heat. How he keeps making her body feel. It all compiles together, shoving up against her heart. She suddenly knows what she wants from him. 

“How long for the water to warm?” she asks.

“A minute or two.”

“Okay,” she says, dragging him toward the sofa. She pushes him to sit, and she kneels in front of him. “Can you last for a minute?”

Cloud blinks at her, the glaze still hovering in his eyes. “What…”

She runs her hands up his thighs, and comes forward so that her mouth is hovering over his building erection. She smirks at him, and it feels coy even to her. “Tell me when the water’s warm enough.”

He looks gobsmacked. “I—Tifa—“ he tries, but she dips her mouth on him, letting her lips come over the tip of him. His voice breaks into a moan, and he falls back against the cushion.

“Tifa—I—you’re—“

She realizes his stuttering might be the thing that turns her on the most. She brings a hand up to hold him and squeeze his length while she sucks with her mouth. Cloud breathes shakily. She can feel it through his legs as he trembles. 

“You’re…I’m…”

“I’m what?” she asks, running her tongue up and down, all along him. She glances up and catches his eye. His jaw is slack, his lips parted in ecstasy. He’s watching every movement she makes like she’s going to show him an alternate universe, and it dazzles her. It is a punch in the stomach, and she kisses the tip of him before taking him in her mouth again. 

“Fuck. Tifa. I can’t—“ he stops, moaning. One of his hands finds her hair, gripping it, lingering in the strands. He doesn’t push against her head, only holds it, and there is a reverence in the way he lays his fingers against her cheek while she takes him in her mouth, while she tastes him. He is so sweet and decadent while she curls her tongue around him. 

There is an absurd pleasure in making Cloud Strife feel this way. His jaw clenches and releases, his eyes fade in and out of the world, taken somewhere only he can see. His chest rises and falls in uneven jerks, his other hand grips at the cushions beside him. He utters her name quietly, softly, as if he doesn’t mean for her to hear it. It travels across the air between them like a mild quake, rippling through his body. 

“The shower’s ready,” he manages, his voice strained. “Tifa. It’s—I—Stop.”

She continues, ignoring him. His body shudders.

“I don’t…want you to…” he tries.

“I want you to,” she whispers. She takes him in deeply, gently glides over him with her teeth. He bucks a little at the sensation. 

“Fucking goddamn it,” he shakes.

“Give it to me,” she breathes. She squeezes and sucks and pulls, relentless and unwilling to let him go.

It takes a few more seconds before he releases, and she endures him, fills herself with him. She is taken over with a specific fullness as she eats him alive.

He stares at her as she leans away from him. It’s the same look he gave her when she wiped her lipstick across his mouth. There is madness shifting under the blue, like the wisps of green along his pupils. It is a tease, a hint, but it is present and dangerous.

“Tuesdays,” he says after a lengthy amount of time. His voice is gravelly, like tire treads burning against pavement. “My favorite day. Without question.”

Tifa blushes, but she smiles. He sits up and helps her stand with him. He takes off her bra, delicately dropping it onto the sofa. She undoes the buttons of his shirt, and he slips out of it, letting it fall over her bra. They look at each other. Cloud reaches up to cradle her face in his hand, his thumb running along her jaw. 

“Let’s clean up,” he says.

“Yeah,” she breathes. “Let’s.”

He pushes the glass door into the spacious shower, and Tifa is hit with heat and mist and steam, like she’s stepping into a wide open mouth. Cloud follows behind her, and he is quiet, only loud with his stares. She steps back underneath the rainfall of water, her body hit with the spouts and jets situated vertically in the tile. There are three lines of them, with the wide shower head easily able to soak two people. She dampens her hair, lifting and smoothing it with her hands, and her heart races as she watches him, because he doesn’t join her—he only observes. It reeks of intimacy. It is an unsettlingly high level of sensuality as the water cascades down her body, trickling from her chin to her neck, between her breasts, her torso, her hips and legs, the water acting like warm, wet fingers on her skin. Cloud is being hit by the jets, and his torso becomes slick. His hair falls in damp strands, his bangs plastering against his forehead. His eyes follow the water paving along her skin, and when his eyes come back up to hers, her mouth parts and she has to look away. She glances to the side and sees the shampoo, busying herself with grabbing it from the small, indented shelf. Cloud finally steps forward before she can place any shampoo in her hand. 

“Let me,” he tells her, gently taking it from her. She watches him squeeze a glob of it in his palm, standing in front of her and running his fingers in her hair. The suds occur immediately, and his blunted nails graze against her scalp in a wondrous massage. She hums at the feeling, smiling and closing her eyes. She feels the heat of him, mixing with the heat of the water. It coalesces around her. She toes a little closer and reaches her hands up to land on his chest. She sighs as she feels him, opening her eyes to look up at his face. He’s looking at her hair, his fingers tangling in the long strands carefully, trying not to pull on her. She keeps smiling, running her palms up to his shoulders. 

She watches him frown in concentration—or thought—as he continues to caress her skull. When she finally steps back to rinse the soap out of her hair, he continues to avoid her stares. She takes a breath and hedges, “You okay?”

He grabs a smaller bottle along the side of the jets. Tifa is surprised to find he has any conditioner at all—and then wonders if he has a secret fondness for his hair. 

“Yeah,” he says, still not looking at her as he squeezes a drop of conditioner in his palm. Once her hair is rinsed and free of suds, she steps out of the spray and squeezes out the water. He comes forward when she’s ready, threading the conditioner through her long, damp locks. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah, Tifa, I’m sure,” he says. “You have so much hair.”

She smiles a little at the comment, but she can’t help the feeling of nerves twisting up into her stomach. She hesitantly reaches out and places her hand on his forearm, stopping his ministrations. He pauses and eventually looks at her. There is nothing in his eyes that says he’s hiding from her, but it feels like he is—somehow, suddenly, some way. 

“I’m sorry if…” she starts, uncertain what she’s trying to say. “I…didn’t want to stop earlier, even though I know you wanted me to…”

His brows furrow before he shakes his head. “No, Tifa, that’s…I’m not upset about that. I’m…the opposite,” he says, and he finally smiles. 

It’s a relief to see it. Tifa reaches up a finger to touch his lips. He lightly bites her fingertips. 

“Okay,” she says softly. “You just seemed a little…” 

_A little what?_ She’s not sure.

He merely shakes his head. “Guess I’m still recovering.”

She laughs at that, taking the shampoo again and pushing him under the spray. “Your turn.”

She copies him, lathering up his hair, fluffing it up with bubbles, kissing his nose because he looks adorable underneath a wig of suds. When he rinses himself, she admires him freely once he closes his eyes, following the flow of water down the curve of his neck, the planes of his chest, and the gentle ripples of his stomach. She eyes how his muscle falls into a V from his hips, and he shines under the water, glistening like the marble of his apartment. 

She gazes at all of him without the burden of him knowing how much she loves staring this way. When he opens his eyes, she hurriedly turns to grab the conditioner. She comes up closer to him and takes care to place attention on each strand of his hair. She teases him about how she wondered at its perfect messiness every day.

It is impossible to tell if he blushes in the heat of the shower, but he averts his eyes, smirking a little and scoffing. “Yeah, I like my hair.”

She laughs, bringing him closer to her so she can kiss him. “Me too.”

He watches her, continuing to smirk. She settles away from him a bit, and his gaze is heavy as it mingles with the weight of the mist and warmth. She maintains eye contact with him for a while before her eyes rove down his body again. His do the same. He runs a hand through his wet hair, and she watches him become aroused as he observes her. Her breath catches, and she feels herself tighten in between her thighs. He takes a few steps closer until he’s crowding her. They don’t touch. He’s only an inch away from the line of her body. She curls her hands, keeping them at her sides as they gravitate in each other’s orbit. Their eyes hook on each other, charged and waiting and staring. It is suddenly taut and thick between them, thicker than the humidity. Heavier than the weight of heat. 

“How do you want it?” he asks her, and his voice is dark and wispy, like threads of smoke. 

She takes a breath. “Any way. I just want you inside of me.”

At that, his hands come up and cradle her face, and he kisses her with that severe, crazed madness. His tongue tastes like the color of the green insanity he conveyed on his bathroom sofa. His scent isn’t diluted by the water flickering against them. Instead, it magnifies him, beading up on her in droplets. He is beginning to seep into her skin. 

Her hands claw at the strong lines of his forearms. They move until her back touches a wall. He pushes against her with an aching force, and Tifa moans while he grips her thighs, thumbs digging into her muscle. 

“Let’s do what we did in the office earlier,” he growls. “Except without the clothes.”

“Oh,” she shudders. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s do that.”

He smiles at her easy agreement. He takes her hips in his hands and stands between her legs. He shifts her over him, grinding and rubbing her clit feverishly over his arousal. She keens immediately with the contact. One of her hands grips his shoulder while the other reaches up against the slick shower wall behind her. 

“Oh, Gaia, Cloud,” she stammers. “This feels good. This feels too good.” 

“I didn’t know this could exist,” he tells her, groaning with another roll. “Mm. Fuck.”

“Me either,” she whimpers, her voice coming out an octave higher. She begins panting, clawing at his neck. She moves one leg up onto his hip, and he helps support her. The increased access to skin makes her close her eyes, and she extends her neck back, her head pushing into the tiles behind her. 

“Give me more,” she demands. “Oh, I want you inside me.”

He leverages her leg up higher and does what she commands. He enters her, and it is slow and steady and luxurious. She moans low and long, and his other hand leaves her hip, finding her hand on the wall above her head. He presses their palms together, and she weaves their fingers into a pattern of wet skin. 

His thrusts are slow but hard, and the noises that come out of her are punctuated by his force. The pleasure is too outstanding for her to hold back. He presses closer to her, chest against chest, his groans falling into her ear like the sweetest music. It weaves into her like their fingers, tightens around her stomach. She clenches every time he groans, and she hears him hiss, and she is overcome with the purest form of ecstasy. It is as if she’s ingested an elixir when she closes her eyes, because she sees how the water falls across his muscle, how he looks at her like they share a secret, the smirk like a dagger through the lower curve of her abdomen, a pressure—always a pressure—blazing a trail up to her brain. 

She can see how his face looked when he came in her mouth. She thinks about how that fullness is so similar to the one he’s giving her now—almost sharp and almost painful, tiptoeing along the edge of destruction and creation. 

“Fuck, Cloud,” she whispers, her voice whittled and hollow as she is so close, _so close,_ on the precipice about to fall. 

“Oh, Tifa,” he answers, his thrusts turning faster and frenzied. Tifa pushes her thigh into him and digs her nails deeper into his knuckles. Her body becomes taut and strained, until one single thrust breaks her. She falls apart, holding onto him while they fly on the wave, waiting for it to recede. 

He leans against her on the wall, lowering her leg. They hold each other for a long time, waiting for their recovery and their energy to come back. Tifa is so boneless, she doesn’t think she’ll be able to get out of the shower on her own. She doesn’t let go of him until he attempts to back away, and she says, “Cloud, I’m really shaky.”

He maintains his grip on her, assisting in holding her up. “Are you…did I hurt you?”

“No, not at all,” she says, letting go of him and standing on her own. Her inner thighs tremble as she tests her weight. She nearly laughs at how numb she feels, leaning against the wall. 

“Let me turn off the water,” he says, slowly making his way to the knobs. When he does, he presses a hand against the tile and runs a hand along his face. “That was really…”

“Yeah, I know,” she says, holding back a wince. She feels like a shredded piece of rubber. “I think I’m still sore from Saturday.”

At that, Cloud’s face brightens with a grin. He pushes off the wall, seeming in a much steadier state than her. He opens the glass door as wide as it can go, and he steps up to her. “Need help?”

“Oh, just a little,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Maybe it was the position—“

She nearly screams in surprise when he lifts her up in his arms, one arm under her knees and the other around her back. She immediately clutches his neck.

“Cloud, what are you—“

He shrugs. “Easier this way. You’re light.”

Tifa blinks, a blush hurriedly filling her face. “Cloud…”

He smirks at her. “C’mon. Let’s go recover, relax, and finish dinner.”

“Y-yeah, fine. Okay,” she stutters, feeling suddenly boneless again. “But this is very unnecessary.”

“I don’t mind it.”

She relaxes into him for the short distance between the bathroom and his bed, where he sits her down before walking to the bathroom and returning with a towel. He hands it to her, and while she dries herself and her hair, he goes to his dresser and pulls out a t-shirt and basketball shorts. “Wear these,” he tells her, placing them on the edge of the bed. “Much more comfortable than work clothes.”

“Thank you,” she says, eyeing them. _I’m going to wear his clothes,_ she thinks warmly, before dismissing the thought with an internal scoff. 

Cloud reaches into the dresser for another pair of shorts. Before she can think about it, she blurts, “Lay with me for a while.” When he glances up at her, she amends. “Not long, just…a few minutes.”

As he gazes at her, he gazes at _all_ of her, before he shakes his head and shoves the shorts on. 

“Yeah. Okay. But I have to keep the shorts on or else we’ll have a repeat of Saturday.”

Tifa laughs and blushes. “Would that be so bad?” She glances at the clock, already reading 8:30. “Oh. Right. Maybe not on a weeknight.”

He grunts and takes his place beside her, laying across the bed and resting his head on one of his various pillows. 

She reaches for the shorts and t-shirt, slipping them on and resting beside him. She turns on her side so that she’s facing him. Cloud lays on his back, and he turns his head to look at her. She smiles at him. He smiles back. 

“This is…fun,” he says eventually.

_Fun._ Yeah. It certainly _is_ fun. Tifa bites her lip. _An outlet,_ she tells herself. _Who cares._

Then she thinks again of the flowers and the dinner and the drive under the stars, what she’s been thinking about since his note. _He’s wooing you, Tifa._

_Emotions don’t care and life doesn’t care._

_He’s only a boy._

_It’s not like you’ll marry him._

_Life is short._

Tifa sighs. _Life is short._

She tries to imagine the thread of fear inside of her being snipped with a razor, cut and unraveled and dead at her feet. 

_If only it could be that easy,_ she thinks, as she stares at his smile. If only it was easy to allow herself to feel what she wants to feel. 

“What are you thinking?” he asks her. 

“Um…” she starts, a sudden panic running up her throat. “I’m thinking about how much I enjoy this.” 

Strange, how sudden and truthful the confession. She glances away from him to the comforter, bunched up between their bodies. She folds her arm under her head. “What are you thinking?” she asks.

“I’m thinking about how much I…” he trails, his eyes falling to her torso. “How much I don’t want to go to work, tomorrow.”

Tifa smiles, wondering if he’s not hiding something in this space of time like she is. It’s a fanciful thought, but for a moment—for a moment, she’ll wonder and she’ll allow herself to want whatever it is he won’t say, and perhaps what he will never say—and then she’ll go back to feeling the way she had before. Warm and content and always, always concerned about the future. 

But at the end of the night, once they’ve miraculously finished dinner without any other sexual tangents, stuffed and full and ready for bed, Cloud drops Tifa back off at her apartment. When he kisses her goodbye on her doorstep, Tifa realizes that the once taut, neon red flare of her thread is no longer as vibrant. It has loosened, and it has dulled. 

She falls asleep in his t-shirt and shorts, and she dreams of grassy hills and summer heat, his scent desperately trying to burn the thread altogether.

When she wakes, she blinks against the reality of the morning. When she washes her face in the bathroom, she catches her eyes in the mirror. Their color glows in the warm lighting, flickers of amber lighting behind them like coals. They are different. She looks…different. 

It’s then she realizes her thread has lost its deep thickness. It is shallower. It is beginning to pull apart like old scar tissue on an ancient wound, painful and sharp and…

She stares at herself in the mirror. 

Necessary. 

* * *

The next day at work, Tifa finds herself moogling Cloud.

She’s not sure why. No, scratch that. She knows exactly why. She’s been thinking about his face in the reflection of his condo windows he had given her last Saturday evening, how faraway his face looked while he tried to tell her…something about himself. She eyes the stargazer, sitting innocently on her desk, and she sighs. She pulls the note from underneath her keyboard, where she hides it to look at when she needs it. The severe, clean slashes of his handwriting stare back at her. 

She glances back up to the computer screen, realizing how many links she’s clicked on in the past year to get a better idea of who her new CEO was when he first ascended. All of them she’s read before, except one pretty, new link, dated back only a few days prior.

_Cloud Strife, SOLDIER CORP CEO Merging With Shinra Inc—Where Will He Go? Stamp reports._

Tifa hovers her mouse over the link. It sounds like a speculative article. She doesn’t think Cloud would have interviewed with anyone about the merger yet. Would he have told her if he did? She frowns, not knowing the answer. He’s hardly told her much of anything. 

Regardless, the title of the article gives her pause. She hasn’t thought too much about where Cloud will go after the merger _or_ what he’ll do. She feels a leaden guilt drip into her stomach for not thinking about it before. In the meetings, he has never once mentioned his future role. He’s only talked about others’. Tifa can’t believe she hasn’t noticed it before. He’s talked about the engineering, the marketing, the financial, the IT, the budgeting…but never once has he stated where his role will absorb into. Tifa blinks, a sudden thought running through her. 

_What if he leaves?_

Where would he go? What would he do? Midgar is far from his favorite place. Would he move across continents? Would he start some other entrepreneurial endeavor elsewhere? 

_Do you ever wake up one day and realize you don’t like where you are?_

Tifa has a catch in her throat. The way he looked at her in the window reflection. The way he looked at her in his shower. How he was quiet and intense and something else. Tifa’s been thinking about it all morning, ever since she woke up and studied her face in the bathroom mirror. That _something else._

She has a rushing fear embed inside of her. 

_He’s leaving, isn’t he?_

That must be it. She knows it. Deep down inside of her, she knows it. She knows exactly what he’s going through with the decision, because that’s how she felt before. She was going to leave this job that she had loved for so long for an unknown prospect. And while Tifa never tries to assume anything, and while she hopes she is wrong about it—perhaps she is being dramatic and worrying about nothing—she can’t shake the feeling that he knew what he wanted to do when the merger agreement went through approximately four months ago. 

Her mouse continues hovering over the link. She thinks about it, and she wonders. She reasons with herself if it would be worth the speculation or the time to read through it. She _can_ just ask him, instead of wasting time in her rumination. But…

But.

She exits the web browser, and she chooses a project to work on instead. She struggles to concentrate, and eventually she thumbs the note from underneath her keyboard, rereading it for the thousandth time in three days. 

_Maybe life will begin to fulfill your dreams instead of breaking them._

The words are both a ripple and a squeeze. She holds onto the hope they give her, and she tries to gain the courage to ask him. 

Because why would he be _wooing_ her if he is, ultimately, going to leave? 

She sighs, shaking her head. She’s being silly. If he’s leaving to find something that makes him happy, good for him. That is how it should be.

He has no obligation to tell her, no matter how much she’s realized she wants him to. Her thread shifts, and she presses her cheek into the palm of her hand. She pulls out her phone and stares at it, and she seriously contemplates texting him and asking him straight out. _Hey, I hope you’re having a good day. So, are you going to leave the company?_

She rolls her eyes at herself. No. She’s become a mess. A teenager. 

She ends up turning off her phone to deter herself, takes out her earbuds, blares her music from her desktop, and immerses herself with the finishing touches for the logo of the engineering department. 

* * *

Tifa forgets to turn on her phone until she’s about to leave from work. As it’s in the process of rebooting, a knock resounds against her door. It’s right at 5:00 pm on the dot, and Tifa frowns, knowing it can’t be anyone else from her office—and she quells her heart from doing a somersault. 

Cloud opens the door and pokes his head in. “Uh, hey,” he says, hovering in the doorway. “I…texted you, earlier.”

Tifa straightens. “Hi. I’m sorry, I turned my phone off. I should have…told you,” she says. “I didn’t even think about it.”

It’s a peculiar thing. She hasn’t felt compelled to consistently text someone in a long time. She hadn’t thought Cloud would text her throughout the day, and that he tried to talk to her without a response fills her with both endearment and another wave of guilt. 

He simply shakes his head. “No, that’s alright. I just wanted to, uh…” he trails, shrugging. “Make sure you were…fine. Not that you wouldn’t be, I just, uh…” He begins blushing, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the door jamb. “Anyway, just ignore them.”

A smile creeps up onto her face as she watches him. He’s flustered and uncertain like a fish out of water. 

“Were you worried?” she asks, unable to help herself. 

He scoffs. “No.”

“Hm,” she says, continuing to smile. She goes to stand and grabs her purse. Her phone is now awake, and she opens it, sliding her screen to see her message notifications. A red five glares up at her, and she is strikingly curious. He speaks up and diverts her attention before she can tap them to open.

“You leaving?”

“Yes, I was,” she says. “Unless you wanted to… _talk_ about something.”

His eyes land on her again, and a small smirk forms on his lips. “As much as I love _talking,_ ” he starts. “I actually have a business dinner soon.”

At that, she raises a brow and makes her way toward him, slipping her phone into her purse. He remains in her doorway, and there must not be anyone in the office since he’s so openly and casually leaning against it. “What time’s dinner?”

His eyes flutter over her. 

“In thirty minutes,” he says.

“Ah.” She taps her lip with her finger. “How far away is the restaurant?”

The grimace that appears on his face is so dramatic, Tifa has to stifle a giggle. “Fifteen minutes.”

“Oh, that’s not bad,” she smirks, placing a hand on his chest. “Isn’t that plenty of time?”

His eyes darken, and he looks terribly regretful. “Hardly.”

She wants to laugh, but it is stemmed when he leans forward to kiss her. He breaks away before it gets heated, leaving Tifa wanting. 

“I actually came to ask if you wanted a ride home,” he says, glancing over her. “I know you’re only two blocks away, but…”

Tifa smiles up at him, and Cloud’s blush lingers. 

“That’s really nice of you, Cloud. It won’t make you late?”

He shakes his head. “No. It won’t.”

She bites her lip. “We can always…you know…instead. I’m fine with walking home.”

He kisses her again. “I’ll miss the dinner if we do. C’mon. I’ll take you home.”

With that, Cloud grabs her hand and leads them down the empty hallway, everyone already having deserted the office building. Tifa glances at their hands laced together, and the warmth oozes into her stomach. 

Distracting herself, she takes out her phone again as they reach the elevator and says, “Let’s see what you sent me, Mr. Strife.”

He grunts. “Like I said, ignore them.”

Humming, she opens up the messages. She thinks for a moment to begin reading them aloud, just to embarrass him. She bites her tongue when she realizes she’d only be embarrassing herself, too. 

The first message is timestamped at 11:42 am. It says: _Hope you slept well last night. I didn’t because I was too busy thinking about you._

At 12:15 pm, the second says: _I have a business dinner tonight. I wish I could skip it, or at the very least, bring you with me._

At 1:30 pm, the next one says: _Sorry, I know you’re busy. Can I see you today?_

He sent one right after. _I have time to drive you home before the dinner._

At 3:14 pm, the last one says: _Never mind. I know you said you liked walking. Maybe I’ll talk to you later._

Tifa bites the inside of her lip. The guilt runs through her, unfiltered. As the elevator doors close, Tifa glances up to Cloud.

“I’m sorry, Cloud, I didn’t mean for you to think I was ignoring you.”

“You didn’t,” he says quickly. “Forget about them. I could have just…emailed you.”

He shifts, and he might be embarrassed. He is still too good at hiding how he feels. The numbers of the elevator slowly descend from twenty-five to twenty, and Tifa hesitates. 

“But…”

“Put it out of your mind,” he says before smirking at her. His hand is still loosely tangled in hers, and Tifa tightens her hold on it. It might be nonsensical, but both her guilt for shutting off her phone and the guilt for not even giving any thought to his job fills her up like an empty glass. As the numbers on the elevator hit level nine, Tifa steps forward and pushes the emergency stop button. Alarms immediately blare around them.

Cloud blinks, swiveling his head to stare at her. “Tifa, what are you—“

“Three minutes,” she says, stepping up to him and pushing him into the elevator wall. She curls her hands around his neck and brings him down, slamming their lips together. “Just three minutes. That’ll be enough time.”

“I—but—“ he tries, before groaning when she presses her body up against his hips. She breaks away to hike up her skirt, then she makes quick work of the belt, button, and zipper of his slacks. It is a testament to how attracted she is, she thinks, by how quickly aroused he can make her. As she palms him to free his erection from his briefs, a flare of satisfaction burns up her stomach, because she can make him so quickly aroused, too. 

She removes her underwear, and Cloud spins them around, pinning her up against the wall. She gasps and wraps her legs around his hips, and he thrusts into her without any preamble. She whines and he breathes into her neck, his fingers digging into the ridge of her hip. Her body slides up and down the wall with the immediate and forceful pace he sets. She claws at his arms and his hair. The alarms are blaring in the background, further emphasizing their race against time, and her heart dumps adrenaline into her system. 

“Oh, Cloud, I’d never ignore you on purpose,” she pants. 

“You could ignore me,” he answers, a moan underlying his words. “Doesn’t mean I’d stop bothering you.”

She smiles and gasps, already on the verge of orgasm. She curls her legs tighter around him, and he presses his face into her neck. 

“Mm. Please keep bothering me.”

He maneuvers one hand between her legs and thumbs her clit. Her body shakes at the sensation, jarring and sudden. 

“Yes,” she hisses. 

“You like that?”

The low grumble of his words, punctuated by strain and desperation, make her seize and clench. His breath hits her neck in hot puffs. 

“I love it,” she breathes, and his thumb presses against her harder, and the last few thrusts make her come with an abrupt edge. She grips him tightly with her arms and legs, one hand holding on to the back of his head. He moans as he releases, and they remain wrapped together for one tantalizingly warm second before he helps slide her back to the floor. They situate themselves again, Tifa pulling up her underwear and jerking down her skirt, Cloud readjusting himself back into his pants, refastening his zipper and button and buckling his belt. He reaches forward to the button panel to undo the emergency stop, and they are doused in an incredibly loud silence.

Tifa glances at her phone, running a hand through her hair. “Oh. Four minutes.”

Cloud smiles. “Not bad. We can practice.”

She leans against the wall, allowing her breathing to calm and grinning at him. His cheeks are rosy, and his hair is a bit more out of place. He is ruffled and glorious, and it is a hit to her system.

The elevator doors open to the garage not a minute later, and Cloud pulls her along towards his car. 

“Cloud, are you positive?” she asks, glancing at her phone again. The face reads 5:09 pm. “I can walk home. It’ll be cutting it very close, and I don’t want you to be late.”

Cloud makes a noise. “It’s just Rufus and his lackeys. A minute or two won’t kill them.”

Tifa opens her mouth but is silenced by the exasperated look Cloud gives her. She relents. 

“Okay,” she says.

Once they turn out of the garage, Tifa asks, “What’s the dinner about?”

“Finalizing a few things,” Cloud says. “Now that it’s much closer to the merger, Rufus wants to make sure what he wants is implemented.” Cloud pauses before admitting, “His father won’t be there.”

Tifa nods, acknowledgment rushing through her. “Ah. I see.”

“I think Rufus finally wants to handle something by himself without his dad’s handholding.”

A faint sneer settles across Cloud’s face, and Tifa eyes it. She hesitates for just a moment before she rests her hand on his forearm. Cloud’s sneer fades when he glances at her from the touch. 

“Do you think he won’t do a good job?”

Cloud shrugs. “I hope he does. We’ll see. I don’t want this to be all for nothing.”

Tifa opens her mouth but is unsure how to ask what she wants. Their time is too short. They are one turn away from her apartment. 

“What do you mean, all for nothing?”

Cloud blinks, and she sees the shift in his jaw, as if he’s deciding on what to say. 

“I, uh…I just don’t want Rufus to botch up the business, that’s all.”

Tifa bites the inner meat of her lip. It is too hard to say what she wants—to ask _but won’t you be there to help?_ Or _don’t worry, you’ll be there to fix his mistakes._

Tifa sighs as he pulls up to her complex. The time on the dashboard is 5:14 pm, and Tifa is amazed at how well their timing turned out to be. Perhaps they don’t need practice after all.

She tries to smile at him, but she is still consumed by her questions, haunting the back of her mind.

“Thank you, Cloud,” she says. She presses her hand into the line of his forearm as she leans over to give him a soft kiss. His lips linger on her for a strangely intimate amount of time before they settle back. “Have a good dinner.”

As she opens the door to step out, he says, “I meant what I said. I’d take you with me if I could.”

She smiles. “And I’d go, if I could.”

He stares at her for a moment. “I’ll…text you.”

It almost sounds like a question instead of a statement. Tifa’s heart squeezes, thinking about how she detached from him all day, knowing he was embarrassed or uncertain or even…

“I’ll answer,” she says, closing the door. She waves as he turns out of the parking lot, and Tifa is hit with another realization. 

He wasn’t embarrassed. 

Not how he shifted against her office door jamb. How he smirked and shrugged, how he averted his eyes, how quickly he said _forget about them_ in regards to his texts in the elevator. No. Not embarrassed at all. 

He was hurt. 

Cloud Strife with his feelings hurt because she was foolish enough to turn off her phone. After the previous night they had shared together, if Cloud didn’t respond to her texts, Tifa knows she would have been hurt, too. 

Tifa stands in her apartment’s parking lot for too long. She thinks about Cloud’s heart being large enough to feel pain. How is it that something so normal continues to shock her? It doesn’t make sense, and yet she is surprised all the same. She sighs before walking toward her stairwell. 

It’s a deep yearning she is beginning to feel. As she walks into her apartment and sets down her purse and settles in for the evening, she notices it happening like the swell of a river after a storm. She can’t quite stop wanting more from him. While it may not be his intention to seem mysterious, Tifa thinks the difficulty that surrounds him with opening up and speaking about himself is merely how Cloud is wired. He is a bundle of quiet contemplation and intense stares. He is gentle but firm, driven and intimidating. He is a lot of things, just like anyone else, but to Tifa he is…more. He’s someone she wants to spend time getting to know, to explore every nook and cranny, to dust off every underutilized shelf and to rummage through forgotten pockets, to find the parts of him that are vulnerable and unguarded. She wants to know what makes him. 

When Tifa goes to bed that night, amidst all of her thoughts and deliberation, the fraying thread of fear inside of her does not tighten or pull. For this evening, at least, it is simply a decoration.


	11. XI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI EVERYONE. Thank you all so much for your comments, love, support. You make this so fun to write, and you've all been helping me to push boundaries I never knew I had. ❤️ I apologize in advance for not getting to everyone's comments on the last chapter, but I figured you would all like me to update rather than me scream at all of you with my love, so here I am. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter. Happy reading!

That morning, before Tifa finishes getting ready for work, she decides to text Cloud. 

**Tifa:** _How was dinner?_

He responds quickly. 

**Cloud:** _Not terrible._

Tifa smiles a little. 

**Tifa:** _But not good?_

**Cloud:** _I guess it was fine. But I’m comparing it to other things infinitely better._

Tifa blushes, placing the phone down for a moment. She realizes when she texts him, she merely stares at the screen of her phone, waiting for his reply, instead of doing anything else productive. She sighs and grabs a blouse from one of the hangers, slipping her arms through the sleeves. As she goes to button it, she catches her own eye in the mirror. Her gaze falls to her bra. It’s pink on Thursdays. One year for her birthday, Aerith jokingly gave her a myriad of things in pink, because Tifa always teased her for it being her favorite color. “It’s just so…bright,” Tifa would say when Aerith asked her what was wrong with it. Sticking out her tongue, Aerith teased back, “And purple is so… _dreary.”_

At first, Tifa never wore the bra and underwear. Then it started to grow on her. Then Yuffie coined the term of Thursday being Friday Jr., and it should always be a happy day. 

Thus, Tifa put on the bra and it’s been that way for longer than she’d care to admit. 

Biting her lip, Tifa grabs her phone again. She hesitates over the keys before she begins typing. 

**Tifa:** _What things could be infinitely better than a fancy dinner?_

**Cloud:** _Lots of things._

When he sends nothing to elaborate, Tifa expands on it.

**Tifa:** _Tell me._

**Cloud:** _A fancy dinner with you, for one._

**Tifa:** _That does sound better. What else?_

**Cloud:** _A not very fancy dinner with you._

**Tifa:** _I did enjoy cooking in your kitchen. And leaning against the counter._

**Cloud:** _And the shower. And the bathroom sofa._

**Tifa:** _The sofa might have been my favorite._

**Cloud:** _Really?_

**Tifa:** _Yes._

**Cloud:** _Why?_

How can she really describe why it’s her favorite? She can’t rightly say, _because I felt you bathe my throat_. She can’t necessarily say, _because I got to consume such an intimate part of you._ She doesn’t feel confident enough in herself to say that pleasuring him gave her the highest feeling of satisfaction and empowerment she’s ever had. 

**Tifa:** _Because now I know what you look like when you come in my mouth._

It takes Cloud longer to respond to her last text, and Tifa smirks a little bit at the lengthy pause. She takes advantage of it by completing the process of getting ready for work. She’s mid-swipe with her mascara when her phone twinkles with sound. Tifa makes herself finish one eye before she looks. 

**Cloud:** _And now I know what your tongue can do._

Tifa reads his words and imagines him saying them in that tone he has when he’s aroused—dusky and low. 

**Tifa:** _And I know what you taste like._

**Cloud:** _It’s Thursday. I haven’t seen you on a Thursday._

**Tifa:** _You can if you want to._

**Cloud:** _I always want to._

Tifa smiles, feeling her stomach twist. She finishes in the bathroom and leaves the room. She makes another cup of coffee for her walk to work, and she grabs her purse on her way out of her apartment. 

**Tifa:** _What are you doing for lunch?_

**Cloud:** _Probably you._

Tifa laughs out loud when she reads his text. 

**Tifa:** _I think you’re right, Strife._

She turns on the sidewalk before she sends him another message. 

**Tifa:** _I’ll get to your office a little after noon. I want to avoid Scarlet_

Tifa pauses at that, then she backspaces the sentence about Scarlet before sending.

**Cloud:** _Looking forward to it._

**Tifa:** _You have any guesses on color?_

**Cloud:** _Only several hundred._

Tifa laughs again, shaking her head. 

**Tifa:** _I’m sure one of them is right._

**Cloud:** _I don’t know. There are a lot of different bra colors._

**Tifa:** _Have you been researching?_

**Cloud:** _…no._

**Tifa:** _Cloud! You have!_

**Cloud:** _There are a lot of lingerie options. A lot._

**Tifa:** _Oh, so you went from bras to lingerie ensembles?_

**Cloud:** _My simple tastes have been evolving, I think._

**Tifa:** _Find anything you like?_

**Cloud:** _A few things._

**Tifa:** _Show me later. Maybe I’ll wear one for you._

**Cloud:** _I can’t say no to that._

Tifa smiles, entering the building strolling to the elevators. She taps the up button, dimly aware of the bustle occurring around her. She doesn’t notice the presence that materializes beside her until her dreamy thoughts are interrupted. 

“Looks like someone is off in la-la land,” Scarlet says, her voice as scathingly sweet as ever. Tifa jolts, looking at her side. Her eyes are assaulted by Scarlet’s redness, her dress tight, her body so curvaceous Tifa has wondered if it’s modified. 

Scarlet’s striking figure makes Tifa think about her pink underwear below the armor of her clothes, and she feels, somehow, woefully equipped standing next to her. 

Tifa attempts to act unbothered. “Hm. Maybe I am.”

“Thinking about anyone in particular?” she asks, an eyebrow raising. 

The elevator opens, and they both step inside. The terribly condescending way Scarlet poses her question claws inside of Tifa. Her knee-jerk reply is, “No, just happy I still have a job.”

Tifa taps the button for her floor before glancing at Scarlet. She is giving her a hardened glare as she smashes the button for the top floor. 

“What are you implying, Lockhart?”

Tifa shrugs, biting the inside of her lip. Scarlet’s anger is…easy to flare. And Cloud’s voice enters her mind. _She’s a declawed cat._

Tifa hopes it’s true, because she finds herself saying, “Nothing at all, Scarlet. I’m just counting down the days until the merger.”

Tifa tries to smile at her. Scarlet doesn’t try to hide her sneer. 

“At least I didn’t need to threaten my boss to rewrite a contract to keep me employed,” Scarlet hisses.

The color drains from Tifa’s face. That’s supposed to be confidential. All contracts are. Has Scarlet known about it because she’s Cloud’s secretary? Of course, she’ll have to go through files, organize, set up lunch meetings and dates. Cloud has seemed so apathetic regarding Scarlet, and Tifa’s worry about her has been shoved to the back of her mind. More prominent, important worries have overshadowed her. 

Tifa’s eyes glance up to the numbers on the elevator’s display. She has fifteen more floors. Clenching her jaw, she takes a breath and says, “Of course. I’m sure you think I’ve also done more than that.”

“Oh, like sticking your tongue down his throat?” Scarlet’s eyes fall down over Tifa’s ensemble, a devilish smirk appearing on her dark lips. “Or sitting on his face?”

Tifa almost chokes, her cheeks reddening. “I’m sure that’s what _you’d_ like to do, isn’t it?”

Scarlet laughs, and it echoes against the metal elevator walls. It resounds like a drum cymbal, brassy and sharp. 

“You’re cute, Lockhart. I’m surprised such a timid girl like you had the guts to fuck our boss.”

Tifa clenches her teeth harder until her jaw creaks under the strain. “If that’s what you believe,” she says, trying to maintain a light tone. She has eight more floors. She exhales her sudden anger and annoyance, hoping it sounds like a pitying sigh. “But I guess it worked. I’ve retained my job.” She glances over to Scarlet, and their eyes clash. 

“For now,” Scarlet says. “Breasts and ass can only get you so far.”

Tifa grimaces, feeling a burr of anger run up her spine. Scarlet grins like she knows something Tifa doesn’t.

“From one girl to another,” Tifa carries on, taking a breath to steady her calm. “Maybe you should try screwing the next boss you have. I’m sure someone wants a secretary who’ll work under the table as much as she works _on_ it.”

Scarlet glares at her. Tifa stares back. The elevator dings, and the doors open to Tifa’s floor.

Tifa takes her leave. “Have a good day, Scarlet.”

“Once a whore, always a whore,” Scarlet answers back, smiling, to anyone else, a sunny, bright white smile. The elevator doors close on her.

Tifa sighs, frowning. _What is her deal?_ Tifa doesn’t know. And sadly, Tifa thinks, maybe she doesn’t have one. Maybe Scarlet is vicious just because she wants to be. 

Sometimes, that makes someone the most dangerous of all.

* * *

Tifa waits until 12:15 pm to get to Cloud’s office, wanting to avoid Scarlet at all costs. When she arrives, Scarlet’s desk is blessedly vacant, and Tifa breathes a sigh of relief. 

She enters Cloud’s office without knocking, and she finds him standing by the window, staring out over Midgar. His hands are in his pockets, and the afternoon light hits him, creating subtle shadows along his creases. She wonders how much he stands up during the day and takes that exact spot, contemplating his days or simply breaking from them. Tifa admires his figure as she closes and locks the door behind her. The sound is loud enough for Cloud to glance up, turning his head toward her. He smiles. 

“Hey,” he says. 

“Hi,” she answers, pressing up against the door before beginning the long walk to where he stands. He’s donned his dark green dress shirt, the one she sewed up and fixed for him. Something niggles inside of her at the sight of him wearing it. 

“How’s your day been?” she asks, now standing in front of him. 

“Fine,” he states before smirking. “Better now.”

She laughs lightly at his answer, mimicking her from days before. 

“How’s yours?” he asks. 

She thinks briefly about telling him of her encounter with Scarlet but decides against it. Why talk about her when she’s in his office, standing beside the window looking out over the big, wide world? It’s too perfect to blemish. 

“Good,” she says. “I’ve spent most of it thinking about you.”

“Mm,” he hums, and he leans forward to kiss her. “That’s what I do every day.”

She loves it when he talks to her like this. It sounds like he’s freeing the words with their kisses, only unlocked by intimate touch. 

“You do?” she breathes, bringing her hands up to his neck. Their kisses aren’t open-mouthed yet, just long, warm presses of their lips. 

“Yeah,” he says. “You make it easy.”

“Oh,” she huffs. She gently bites his bottom lip, and his hands roam to her sides. “How?”

“By everything you do,” he says, one hand unzipping her skirt. She turns her head to deepen the kiss, finally allowing her tongue to lick his lip and for his to enter her mouth. 

“Sometimes, I think about you…sitting at your desk…the sun behind you…” she says in between breaths. “I think about you…staring at me.”

He pushes closer to her, and her back hits the chill of the glass window. His chest and groin become flush against her, and she moans into the hard length of his body. 

“I think about you bent over my kitchen counter,” he says, husky and dark, and he shoves her skirt down her legs. They land at her ankles, and he stops for a moment, glancing down. “Ah, pink?”

“Thursday is close to Friday. It’s a happy day,” she breathes. 

He grins at her. “I guess it is a happy day.” He leans in to continue kissing her, and she moans at the contact. He drops one hand to the lace of the panties, and he toys with them for too many, achingly long seconds before he dips his fingers below the band. 

“ _Oh,”_ she keens, unabashedly vocal, the simple word flowing into his mouth. His touch is freeing, too, provoking her to do what she pleases. There is something visceral in the way she hangs onto him with her nails, grasping at whatever skin is available. 

She eventually finds the button of his slacks, fumbling to open them with her eyes closed while his fingers slide up and down against her, and she is able to push his pants down right before his fingers slide into her, his palm caressing the mound of her clit. 

“ _Oh,_ Cloud, oh, that’s it, that’s…mm,” she breathes, moaning while he kisses her deeply, curling his fingers ever so much, pressing against her with a gentle, focused ease. His rhythm is on a steady timescale, and Tifa’s hips move with his hand. 

“Oh, Gaia,” she whispers. “Oh, goddamn.”

“I’m rubbing off on you,” he says against her, and she can hear his smile. “Goddamn.”

“Yes, you— _oh,_ yes, I’m…yes,” she says, her incoherency bordered by the blur of pleasure. Her fingers embed themselves in his skull. Her hips circle around his palm. He changes his pace as she unconsciously takes over. She is suddenly hazy, thrusting herself on his hand. The pads of his fingers inch deeper with the movement, and she cries. 

“Shiva, fuck. _Cloud,”_ she breathes. Cloud moans. 

“Say my name again,” he mutters. 

His command is a direction. She suddenly knows no other word.

“Cloud _._ Mm, _Cloud_. _Oh,_ Cloud,” she mewls. 

“Tifa,” he says. Her head lolls to look at him, and the sunlight hits his hair in a golden halo. His eyes are half-lidded as he watches her, and she moans at the sight of him. She is throbbing, pulled into a deep ache. 

“Do you want to come for me?” he asks. 

The question makes her gasp, her fingers tangling into the glowing threads of his hair. 

“Yes,” she says. “Yes. Cloud. Oh. Cloud. _Yes.”_

“Mm, Tifa, not yet,” he says, taking his hand away. Tifa nearly cries out. “Cloud—“

“Turn around,” he says, gently spinning her. Her face is so hot and her mind so coherent, she thinks it might be melting. She places her palms against the glass window, the chill of it a reprieve. Her eyes are so unfocused, she doesn’t pay the view any attention. Her body is honed into Cloud’s, and she moans when she hears his pants hit the tile floor, quickly followed by her own underwear. When she feels his arousal against her, she moans even louder. 

She is tight and sensitive and inflamed with desire, and all she can think about is the friction of him against her, feeling his fingers press into the soft flesh of her bottom, and when he says, “Tifa,” she looks up into the transparent reflection of the window. She sees his eyes looking through her. Her breath forms condensation against the window, multiplied by the heat of their bodies. Her palms slip against it, and she hisses when he drags his length against her swollen skin. Her eyes flutter shut at the contact. She gently rocks her hips with his movement, and it is a pleasure when he rolls against her—more than a pleasure. How can it be that she loses her mind a little more every time they touch this way? How does he break off pieces of her to keep within him, in his pockets, wrapped around his neck? She feels twirled around him like the newly fastened threads on the buttons of his shirt.

Tifa’s palms curl against the glass, and she presses her bottom back into him. He groans, and he slides into her effortlessly. 

Her breath is strangled when he fills her. “Cloud, _oh.”_

“Shit, Tifa, keep saying my name. Keep…saying…”

“Cloud…Cloud… _Cloud_ ,” she repeats, over and over, in time with his thrusts. They are slow and steady and smooth, just like his fingers and his palm. Tifa opens her eyes briefly, and she can see his face behind her—that crazed, glazed over look, the pinch of his brows, the cords of his neck. She clenches deeply at the sight of him, and he growls. One of his hands run underneath her shirt, pressing into her belly. He begins to press into her harder, the pace becoming faster. She gasps. His friction and his touch and his voice all swirl together, and Tifa’s eyes slam shut as she pushes her hands against the window. Her breath is gone, and her back arches, and her whole body seizes together as she comes. 

“Cloud,” she whispers, his name fogging up the window. Her eyes eventually catch his in the window, their chests and shoulders heaving. She slowly stands up straight, and his other arm comes around her stomach, holding her against him. She feels his heart thundering against her back. 

She leans her head back against his shoulder, closing her eyes and listening to his breath catch up with his lungs. She lays her hands on top of his forearms. 

She feels him turn his head and kiss her temple. She makes a quiet noise at the affection. 

“A happy day, a happy color,” he whispers in her ear, a quiet grumble.

She smiles. “Yes. A happy day.”

She glances at their reflection in the window, overlaid by the gleaming sun and the outside terrain of the city. It’s a beautiful view, she thinks, as she catches his eye in front of her. She sighs contentedly at the smile he gives her. It awakens the courage within her to ask the question lingering in her throat.

“Do you want to waste time together tomorrow, after work?” she says. “We could…” she pauses and takes a deep breath. “We could go to my place. Or grab dinner somewhere. Or something else.”

He nuzzles his face into her neck. “How about my place?” he says. “I’ll drive you after work again. We can go somewhere or cook or order in. Whatever we feel like.”

It is partial relief and partial dread that fills her when they agree on his place. She realizes she is ready for him to be in her apartment and to allow him inside, and that is almost a terrifying venture. Terrifying but thrilling. Her fear is no longer holding her back. 

_And if I let him in,_ she thinks. _Maybe he’ll let me in, too._

* * *

Throughout the day on Friday, Cloud consistently sends her pictures of different lingerie. When she doesn’t think he can possibly find any others, he proves her wrong.

Tifa is on the verge of laughter and embarrassment the entire time, either blushing at her phone or giggling at her computer as she tries to concentrate long enough to finish her project. The lingerie options continue getting more and more questionable the longer he researches.

**Tifa:** _Don’t you have anything better to do, today, being the CEO and all?_

**Cloud:** _Honestly? No. Not until next week. That’s when it’ll get busy._

Tifa glances at her calendar. Next week. The penultimate week before the starred merger date. Everything will be finalized and trimmed and smoothed out, days filled with meetings to make sure it is all going according to plan. Then the week after that, it will be wrapped up in a pretty bow. Some departments will move to a different floor. Others will reorganize as Shinra employees join their ranks. Because of the sheer size of each company, it was agreed upon that both SOLDIER CORP and Shinra Inc would maintain their respective company buildings, with redundant departments mixing together under the direction of Cloud and Rufus. Whichever company with the bigger department in both scale and employee number would relocate to that location. SOLDIER’s HR, IT, financial, and budgeting department’s are smaller, so they will move to the Shinra Inc building. Their manufacturing, marketing, customer service, and engineering departments are larger, so Shinra employees will move in. While not ideal, the speed with which the merger occurred allowed no time to create a massive, personal building large enough to suit both of them. Shinra Inc’s building will become the main hub of operations, and the SOLDIER CORP building will be considered a satellite office, though the operations entailed within each building will be vastly different. It also gives enough space for the company to perform what they need, when they need it, and in a more efficient manner. Unfortunately, with merging, that meant more employee cuts. There aren’t as many as there had been at Cloud’s initiation, but enough to feel the substantial release of numbers.

Luckily, employees who were certain to be terminated were given three month’s notice to find another means of employment, retaining their jobs and, most importantly, their paychecks, until the final merger date. This seemed to give enough incentive for the employees to keep toiling away.

Rufus will have an office at both buildings, making it easy enough for him to jump between sites. This slice of information is not new, but it now gives Tifa pause. The only office space _worthy_ enough for Rufus Shinra would be on the top floor—Cloud’s floor and Cloud’s office. 

Tifa bites at her thumbnail. _Where will he go?_ It continually makes her nervous.

**Tifa:** _We probably won’t get to see each other much, right?_

**Cloud:** _Probably not. I’ll get to see you in some of the meetings._

That’s true. She’ll get to discreetly stare at him from afar while listening to different department heads talk about a lot of…business. 

**Cloud:** _No one likes to take seats around me, usually, so you could sit by me._

Tifa thinks about it, wanting to take him up on the offer. 

**Tifa:** _Would that be suspicious?_

**Cloud:** _I doubt anyone would think twice about it. Except Scarlet._

Tifa laughs out loud. Definitely Scarlet. 

**Tifa:** _Then deal. Next week, I’ll sit by you._

**Cloud:** _Great. It’ll make it much less tedious._

Tifa smiles. 

**Tifa:** _Now I know I won’t be bored to tears. See you around 5:00?_

**Cloud:** _Yeah, I’ll be there._

Tifa calls her dad around 4:30 pm, knowing she won’t be able to call him later. She thinks about waiting until Saturday, but she has a sudden, desperate sense of homesickness settle over her when she thinks about him. Tomorrow seems too far away. She has the need to hear his voice tunnel into her ear. 

“Hey, dad,” she greets warmly when he picks up.

“Hey, sweet pea,” he says. “You’re calling early. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s good. I wasn’t going to be able to call you later, so I thought I’d call you now.”

“I see. A lot of work, tonight?”

Tifa internally sighs, hating that she’s going to lie to him. 

“…yeah. Some. But I’m also going to…hang out with a friend, tonight.”

“Ah, I see. One of the girls?” he asks. 

Tifa glances at his picture on her desk, the one with the two of them after she got promoted. They are grinning from ear to ear. Happy and full. She curls her hand into a fist, cutting her palm with her nails. 

She doesn’t want him to worry. If she tells him she’ll be with a boy, it’ll put him under unnecessary stress. And high blood pressure. Things his chemo-riddled body does not need. 

“Yeah, yeah, one of the girls,” she says. “Yuffie and maybe Jessie. Aerith is always with Zack, so she probably won’t join us. It’s, uh, different when you have a boyfriend. I really don’t see her as much as I would like, and sometimes I miss seeing all of them because work has been so busy…” She cringes. She always rambles when she lies. She doesn’t make it a habit, but she wonders if her father can hear the artificial lightness in her tone across the phone connection. 

“Ah, yes. You all have been so tight knit, I’m sure Aerith will make the time if you ask. I remember being young and in love. Who knows, Teef? Maybe you’ll meet someone tonight.”

Tifa smiles a little.

“Just…please be careful. Take pepper spray. Make sure you keep your brass knuckles in your purse. I know you can fend for yourself, but it doesn’t make me worry any less.”

“I know, dad,” Tifa says softly. “I will be. Anyway, how are you? How was the week?”

They talk for twenty more minutes, him telling her about Nibelheim and the grat infestation they’re dealing with, requiring hired hands and other exterminators to take them out. He talks to her about how they have to budget for the education and police and tourism, as Mt. Nibel is one of the town’s main attractions.

By the time they hang up, Tifa feels much better. She grabs the picture of the two of them and moves her thumb across her dad’s smile. He’s so able-bodied in the snapshot. She never would have anticipated how skeletal and gaunt he would be in only a few short months.

Cloud arrives at her door at 5:07 pm. She is still holding the picture in her hand when he enters, and she places it back on the edge of her desk.

“Hey,” she says. “Any stragglers?”

“Nope,” he answers. “Everyone’s gone.”

It continues to amaze her how quickly everyone deserts the office at closing. 

“You mean no one is working overtime?”

Cloud smiles. “Not on a Friday, at least.”

“I don’t blame them,” she says, grabbing her purse and standing. She makes her way over to him and leans up to kiss his cheek. 

“Ready to go?” he asks. 

“Yes,” she nods, walking out beside him and locking her door. They leisurely make their way to the elevator, and Tifa blushes, thinking about what they did only two days prior. When he hits the down arrow, he glances at her.

“You want to go to my place and eat, or do you wanna eat out somewhere?” he asks.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she says. “Either works. Is there a restaurant you haven’t been in a while?”

“There are a few. I mean…” he shrugs. “As much as I would like for you to cook for me all the time, we can go out tonight. Give you a break.” 

She rolls her eyes, but she smiles at the jest. “Sure. Give me a break.”

“The least I can do.”

“Are you being nice because you want me to wear that lingerie you sent me?”

He makes a noise as they step into the open elevator, pressing the button for the garage. 

“Of course I am.”

Tifa laughs at the answer, not expecting it. “You don’t fool me, Strife.”

When they step out of the elevator, she feels his palm lightly land against the small of her back. She looks up at him inquiringly, because he’s never initiated this kind of touch before. When he catches her eye, he hesitates, but his palm remains against her back. She smiles at him and allows him to lead her. 

“Take me to another place you like,” she says, inching closer to his side. “Some place you’ve been missing.”

As they reach his car and settle into the seats, he seems to be contemplating, turning over the engine and letting it idle. 

“Alright,” he says eventually. “I have one. Do you like hibachi?”

She grins. “I love it.”

* * *

He takes her to a hibachi grill and sushi restaurant in the inner city of Sector 6. It’s located along a downtown strip, near a theater, an arcade, and several bars. They park in a garage, and they walk down the sidewalks to the restaurant. Tifa glances around at all the people milling about, the names of the bars and the kiosks selling trinkets and different, trivial items. One bar stands out to her, the name Chocobo Sam lit with yellow and orange neon stars, a lasso rope design creating the o’s and a cowboy hat atop the S in Sam. There is a mechanical chocobo ride to the right in the covered patio, with several tables and benches to the left, surrounding an outside bar. Country music emanates from the open space, intermingling with the very different seductive tones of rhythm and blues music from the bar across the street, named Madam M. It has a provocative silhouette of a woman and her bust hovering above the wide entrance. 

Tifa bites her lip, unable to diminish her smile. “You come here often, Cloud?”

He follows her line of sight, taking in both bars. His stare is deadpanned when he says, “I like to ride the chocobo.”

She can only hold for a second before she snorts, covering her mouth with her hand. His expression turns into a grin. 

“Wait,” she says, still chuckling. “Have you actually ridden it?”

He shrugs, placing his hand on the small of her back again. “I might have, once or twice.”

Tifa can’t imagine Cloud doing something so…fun. It floors her, but the image in her mind makes her continue laughing. 

“I can’t believe it,” she says. 

“I was drunk,” he admits. If anything, it makes Tifa’s grin wider.

“What are you like _drunk?”_ she asks, unable to help herself. 

“Dumb enough to ride a mechanical chocobo.”

She presses into his side, tilting her head up at him. “How long’d you last?”

“Definitely not longer than five seconds.”

“Oh, I bet you could do much better than that, drunk or not.”

“You give me a lot of credit.”

She smiles at him, her eyes shining. “I dunno. You kill dragons. I’m sure you could slay a mechanical chocobo.”

Cloud scoffs, the laugh brief and fleeting. “Alright. Next time we come to Sector 6, we’ll both ride it. See who lasts the longest.”

“You’re on, Strife,” she says. “May the best chocobo rider win.” She pauses. “I bet it’ll be me.”

“We’ll see, Lockhart,” he says. Then he leans down to kiss her, and it surprises her so much she has to stop walking. 

“Oh,” she says, startled. She blinks up at him. He blushes.

“Uh, sorry,” he says. He jerks his head to the side, hand still on her back. “C’mon, we’re almost there.”

Tifa smiles at his embarrassment, and she reaches for his hand behind her, threading their fingers together. He glances down at her and she squeezes his palm. 

When they arrive, it doesn’t take too long for them to be seated. They take their spots around a flat top grill and order appetizers while they figure out their decisions for entrees. Tifa learns what Cloud likes and doesn’t like. She asks him what he usually gets when he eats here, and he answers her a few options that sound disastrously delicious. They eventually choose one of each of Cloud’s favorites so they can share. 

After the orders are placed, they begin talking about mundane things—the sweltering summer heat and how terrible it is this year, the hope for a rain shower in the coming weeks. 

“There have been reports of higher monster populations around the Eastern Continent,” Cloud mentions. He’s resting his arm along the back of her chair, his forearm grazing her shoulders. “The heat might be driving them out to find cooler habitats, or they might just be agitated.”

“Sounds like you might have to expand your sword fighting territory,” she tells him. 

He looks at her, smirking. “Yeah. Maybe so.”

“The world is counting on you.”

“I’ve got to save it. It’s a heavy burden.”

“Can’t be much heavier than your swords.”

He smiles. “Probably not.”

Tifa learns that Cloud is good at using chopsticks--mostly as she watches him eat their dumplings. He doesn’t spare a glance at the silverware. He likes anything spicy. He drinks water and coffee and hardly anything else. He tells her he drinks beer and other liquors when he feels he needs it, but he avoids whiskey.

“When I got drunk enough to ride that chocobo, all I drank was whiskey. Don’t think I wanna do that again.”

Tifa smiles at him, attempting to be as graceful with the chopsticks as he is. “How’d you get so good with these things?”

Cloud ducks his head at her inadvertent compliment. “Uh, I used to be terrible, so I practiced.”

“Must have taken a little while.”

Cloud clacks the wooden sticks together in his hand. “Longer than it should have.” He pauses before saying, “I hate being…bad at things.”

Tifa watches him for a moment. “That makes sense.”

“Easy to tell?” 

“I think it’s everything,” she answers him. “How you’ve worked so hard for what you have. You always seem so determined.”

He averts his eyes. “I guess.”

She presses her elbows into the table, giving him an intentional stare. “You know you are.” 

He scoffs. “Yeah. Sure. I just…” he shrugs. “When I know what I want, I do what I need to do to get it.” He looks at her again, and though his cheeks are slightly pink, he matches her lean until their faces are close. “I guess you know that.”

She bumps his shoulder with hers, shaking her head. “You flirt a lot, too. That surprises me.”

He raises a brow. “Why?”

“You’re so serious at work, I never imagined I’d hear you flirting with me. Or _anyone._ ”

He tilts his head at her. “Probably because I don’t flirt with _anyone._ ”

“Oh,” she says, pressing into his shoulder again. “Just me, then?”

A beat of silence passes between them, Cloud’s eyes darting over her face. 

“Yeah.”

She scrunches her face into a smile before turning her head away, her neck heating. “Seems to be a lot of…just me.”

“…seems like it.”

She bites the inner meat of her cheek. The heat of his chest and arm surrounding her inspire her to list off, “Your type. Visiting your condo. Flirting…”

“Seems like a pattern,” he mutters, and she glances sideways at him. He’s twisting his chopsticks in his right hand before shifting and saying, “Want me to teach you how to use these better?”

He’s changing track, she thinks. He’s avoiding the topic. His demeanor reminds her of his shift in his shower. He’s not _hiding,_ he’s simply…evading. Dodging and parrying, his expression open and yet veiled all at once. 

Tifa smiles at him and wants to apologize for making him uncomfortable. It’s her immediate, empathetic response for anyone who she’s made feel off-balance, and it doesn’t seem to happen often. With Cloud…it seems to happen much more frequently. 

She bites her tongue on the apology. It’s not something he needs, and she doubts he wants it. Instead, she leans forward to kiss his cheek. 

“Yes, please do,” she says, reaching for her chopsticks and setting her hand in between them. 

He focuses on her hand, bringing his arm out from around her and fixing the points of her fingertips and her grip. “Alright, so if you place the first one like this…” He places the far end of the chopstick in the crease of the base of her thumb. “Then let it rest on your ring and pinky fingers…then place the top one against the first knuckle of your index finger…here, and keep your thumb straight…then that’ll make it easier to…”

Tifa only half pays attention to the instructions, allowing Cloud to move her fingers around like clay, listening to his patient, quiet voice and watching him immediately transform into a teacher. When he glances back up at her to tell her to practice with picking up the remaining dumplings, he pauses. 

“Uh…what?”

She realizes she’s smiling at him. She shakes her head, trying out the new grip position with the chopsticks. They feel a little clumsy but much sturdier and stable. 

“Nothing,” she says. “I’ll try this. Thank you, Cloud.”

He shrugs. “You’ll get the hang of it pretty quickly.”

He places his left arm back around her chair, having already finished his fill. Tifa settles in and practices on the last few pieces of food. She laughs when one dumpling pops out from between her chopsticks, falling between them and rolling to the floor. 

“Yeah,” she says. “ _Quickly.”_

He smiles at her, eying the food on the floor. “It was a pretty impressive slip, though.”

She purses her lips at him before she begins smirking. “Hm. My hands just aren’t as _dextrous_ as yours.”

He eyes her mouth. He easily catches on to her suggestive tone. “I wouldn’t say that. You use your hands pretty well.”

“I’ve really only used them once.”

He rubs his hand over his jaw. “I guess I don’t have enough experience with your hands to…have a valid opinion.”

Tifa begins smiling at the stare he’s giving her, shadowed and darkened under the lighting of the restaurant. 

“I think I’ll have to practice using my hands, then, like the chopsticks. A lot of practice,” she says. “I need to get as good as you. I can’t let you beat me, right?”

Cloud’s throat bobs in a swallow. “Tifa…”

She laughs lightly. She wants to kiss him—a full kiss—but they’re too close to the other patrons sitting near them for comfort.

He’s quiet for a moment before he says, “Are you still hungry?”

“I—yeah, I’m—“ she pauses, looking at his face. He’s giving her a knowing, lustful look. It’s a different mask on his skin, how it sharpens his cheekbones, how his stare cuts into her like diamond points. 

“I’m not hungry,” she breathes. 

“Get it to-go?”

She places her hand on his thigh under the table. “That’s perfect.”

Cloud hails the waiter to notify him of their sudden change for dinner, citing an emergency and expediting their food. The next ten minutes seem ungodly long for the rest of their food to cook and be placed in to-go containers, and when they finally arrive at his car, Tifa kisses him like she’s been wanting. She pulls him over the middle console, wrapping her hands around his neck. He kisses her back just as severely. 

“My place isn’t far,” he says.

“I don’t mind how far it is,” she says. “I just wanted to be alone with you.”

He kisses her again. “Yeah. Me, too.”

* * *

When they get to his condo, they have been sated with wrapping their hands around each other’s, their fingers pausing and weaving like a dance. One moment during the drive, Cloud smirked at her and said, “You know we’re crazy, right?”

At that, Tifa laughed, leaning over the console and kissing his cheek, then tilted her head to kiss his neck. 

“Maybe a little. But crazy makes the world go round.”

He brought her hand to his mouth, gently biting her knuckles. “Yeah. It does.”

When inside his condo, they put the food up in the fridge. Cloud begins walking to his bedroom, shedding his suit jacket on a barstool and beginning to unbutton his dress shirt. He glances over his shoulder at her and says, “It’s time to practice, right?”

Tifa’s entire body heats up at the sight of his smirk, leisurely undressing in the middle of his living room. She follows behind him and mimics him, unzipping her skirt first and letting it fall to the floor, kicking it off her ankles. 

“Yeah,” she answers behind him. He stares at her legs while he drops his shirt, going to unbuckle his belt. He walks backwards down the hallway to his bedroom. She unbuttons the entirety of her shirt as they enter, and it falls in the doorway, lying innocently on the floor. Cloud pushes off his pants, and she reaches for him, placing one hand around his neck and one on his chest. He presses her close to him, their bodies colliding together like their hands in his car. She moans into him, dragging the hand down his chest to his groin, slipping her hand below his briefs. He huffs into her kiss, and she pulls out a noise from him with one gentle tug. 

“Tell me what you like, Cloud,” she whispers, breathing heavily against him. 

He groans at her words, and she fondles him for a minute more before he scoops her up into his arms. He walks them back to the bed before laying back on it. She remains on top of him, pulling his underwear down. 

“Anything. I love anything you do to me,” he mumbles against her lips. “Do whatever you want.”

She moans, kissing him with more forceful intent, her hand gripping him and sliding against him, gently massaging until she hears him gasp. 

She can touch him endlessly, she thinks, kissing his neck and his chest, tasting the flavor of his skin and the deep heat of his desire. As many times as they’ve explored each other, it doesn’t lose its excitement or its beauty or its novelty. They know their bodies better, now. Their words come easier, their shyness transformed into the sharp teeth of craving, following the journey it takes them on. It is always a constant ascension, always a manic rush of sensation and fiery nerve endings, entangling their limbs together like a knitted blanket. 

They remove the rest of their underwear in that desperate haze. Tifa continues pleasuring him while he reaches a hand for her, burning a trail along her slick folds. “Cloud,” she says, making him look at her as she moves his arousal at her entrance, and he slides into her without any other provocation. It is simply one movement out of many, and she moans and slips her eyes close, running on the high wire of bliss. They push and they shift and pull, tugging at their insides, filling each other up with electric currents. Lighting flashes across her skin. Tifa feels the blaze in her neck when he kisses her there, his teeth finding her tumultuous pulse. His hands fist in her hair. She grapples his biceps then his forearms, digging her fingers along the bands of his muscle. He moans underneath her, whispering nonsensical things, hands buried in the nest of her hair, then on her breasts, then over her ribcage, caressing and cradling and wanting, always _wanting._

And when they come, one right after the other, Tifa is cradled against him, their arms around each other and their bodies surrounded by the comforters of his bed, and Tifa whispers, “Can I stay here, tonight?”

She’s answered with a lazy, sensual, slow kiss. Cloud stares at her when they break away, thumbing her cheek. 

“Of course you can.”

He pulls her close against him, and she presses her nose into the crook of his neck. She breathes in the scent of him, and it is a thousand times more potent than falling asleep in his clothes. It is early evening, only just past eight o’clock, but she succumbs to a deep sleep almost immediately, undisturbed by dreams or the ghosts of worry. 

* * *

Tifa wakes up to the gentle sunshine of the dawn. 

She’s facing Cloud’s windowed wall of his bedroom. She blinks a few times, feeling his forearm around her waist, her back up against his chest. Sometime during the night, they maneuvered underneath his bedsheets. Tifa isn’t sure if she even remembers moving to do it, and she wonders if Cloud did it while she was sleeping. The thought makes her smile. It’s something he would do.

She feels his deep breathing hit the crown of her head. She moves her hands underneath the blankets, placing them on top of his own around her. He unconsciously tightens around her at the contact, and Tifa sighs at the feeling, realizing how _much_ this is—naked, together under the bedsheets, holding onto one another, the sunlight cascading over them with a new day. 

She is suddenly overcome by it. She tries to plug up the urge to slip out from his touch. She tries to relish it instead of push it away. She allows herself two calming breaths before she attempts to relax into him, listening to the steady cadence of his chest, the flooding warmth he exudes, and his scent on the pillow. 

_Why do I feel this way?_ She thinks. It isn’t just because her father’s dying. She doesn’t think it is. She’s thought about it on more than one occasion, especially on the nights where sleep eludes her. Self-examination always seems to be easy in the dark shadows of night, when you’re alone with yourself, thinking about your life and wondering, wondering. 

Tifa remembers her mother—such a bright light, as bright as the dawn light seeping along the tile floor of Cloud’s bedroom. She had a lot of life. She was vibrant and soft and soothing, a loving mother and a wholesome spirit. She was a bright star. _Too bright,_ her father had said, once, when they were visiting her grave. _This world seems to snuff out the best of us, first._

He had still been grieving heavily then, but the words stayed with Tifa. They were the kind to imbed like a hollow point bullet. They’ve expanded over the years, she thinks, because Cloud feels just like the words do. He’s a controlled piece of weaponry. He will not leave her even if he is physically gone. 

Tifa knows why her father won’t leave Nibelheim for her. It’s because her mother is there, smothered in the confines of earth and dirt, just like one of those beautiful gems of materia. Her body is there, and her spirit is in Tifa’s childhood home. Her father still lives in that house, surrounded by the dust of the past. He’s never gotten over her. He doesn’t want to get over her.

_She’s the love of my life, Tifa. She’s the only one I’ll ever want._

Tifa sighs against the thought, hating that it is invading her on such a beautiful morning. She had been so mad at her father for grieving for so long, because Tifa couldn’t move on when her father was still in the past. They were supposed to carry on together. Then Tifa moved away to her fancy job and left him behind and—the thought of loving someone like that, then the crippling passage of time, the blur of the years floating along without pause once they leave the earth—she doesn’t know. Tifa doesn’t know if she wants something like that. A love so profound is poetic—it sounds like a fairytale, and the years that contain it are nothing but resplendent and beautiful. It’s what everyone wants. It’s the after no one writes about. It’s the end of it. It’s all the pain. It’s the quiet wishes for death to allow finding one another in the after. It’s the giving up on the rest of life, because it’s not worth it without the one they loved. 

Tifa thought she’d be enough for her father to carry on, but she isn’t. 

Tifa carefully turns away from the window, gently jostling Cloud. He must be in a deep sleep, because his face pinches momentarily before it smooths. The planes of his face are serene and lax and the most comfortable she’s ever seen him. 

It takes him a few more minutes before his eyes start to move underneath his eyelids. It’s another few minutes before he blinks them open slowly, the shade of sleep slowly dissipating in the next seconds upon waking. As his eyes rove over her, he smiles and gives her a gentle squeeze, his arms still wrapped around her. 

“Mornin’,” he says.

“Good morning,” she says. She reaches up to touch his face, still wrapped up in her thoughts and now ensconced in his beauty. 

His smile slowly fades the longer he stares at her. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

She shakes her head, trying to smile to bring back the one he just had. “Nothing.”

He squeezes her again. “Tifa, you can tell me.”

He is looking at her so openly in the throes of the early morning light. His face is soft and vulnerable with the vestiges of sleep. He is holding her against him like his favorite pillow. He’s been showing her pieces of him, like little handfuls of gleaming pearls. 

_He’s been letting me in,_ she thinks. _It’s me. I haven’t. I haven’t let him in._

She takes a deep breath, staring at his neck. She doesn’t realize how emotional she’s become. Her throat is tightening, her eyes pinching at the corners. She blinks a few times before trying to find her balance in the thickets of her sadness. Speaking has suddenly become the hardest thing for her to do. 

“My father’s dying,” she whispers. One tear streams down her cheek in a curving, wet line. Its descent is slow and hesitant, catching on the mottled redness of her skin. It is as if it doesn’t want to travel any further. “He has cancer and he’s dying, and I’ve had so much time to accept it, and I can’t. Why can’t I?” she asks him and no one. “Why can’t I let him go?”

Her eyes begin to fill up, blurring her vision. She can’t see his defined edges, blinded by both the morning sun hitting his skin and the overwhelming burn of grief. 

Another tear falls behind the other, pushing it down until it curls around her jaw. It hits her neck with a frightening chill. 

“Why do I have to?” she asks, the words straining against the desperate pull on her throat. There’s a sob waiting in the back of it, but she forces it down. “Why do I have to accept something I _hate?_ Because I can’t change it? Because it’s out of my control?” 

Along with the despair, there is a budding, blooming anger. Tifa has never let it surface. She’s gripped it in her fists when she pounds the punching bags at the dojo, when she settles into her forms, when she swings her legs through the air and cuts through the breath of the earth. 

Now, she feels it crawling up the heavy, thunderous artery in her stomach. She feels it like a lantern in the dark cavern of her heart. 

“The world already took away my mother. Why does it want to take away my father, too?”

The sob escapes her without warning. It is ragged and wet and ugly, and she buries her face in her hands, unable to allow Cloud to see her like this any longer. She’s never cried this way in front of anyone—not her girlfriends. Not her father. Only in the quiet, lonely spaces, blessedly alone with herself. 

“Tifa,” she hears him say. One of his hands lands on her shoulder, and she hunches further in on herself. The tears fall faster, and they won’t stop because it feels as though they can’t stop. It is an endless sea. 

Cloud pulls her into him, and the backs of her hands hit the wall of his chest. His arms are tight bands, and his heat is a hearth, warming her up from her toes to her stomach to her fingers. His chin rests on the crown of her head. She slowly lowers her hands from her face and rests them on his chest, her cheeks pressing in the hollow of his neck. The salt of her sorrow mixes with the summertime grasses of his skin, and she buries herself closer and closer. The veins of her tears connect them, the pulse of his heart attempting to tether to her own. 

“Tifa,” he says softly. “I’m here.”

His arms are a crushing weight, but he can’t let go—if he lets go, her pieces will fall apart all around them. She slips her arms up around his shoulders, clawing at his back. 

“Please stay,” she cries, gasping. “Don’t leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Tifa.”

She leaves a mess on his chest and neck and shoulder. Her eyes are puffed and swollen. She is a mixture of tears and snot and all the disgusting things that intertwine with misery. She hates her weakness. She hates how she can’t be strong in the face of fear and uncertainty. 

When there is nothing left for her to give, she steadies her breath and Cloud’s arms loosen slightly. It is enough for her to take fuller breaths but not enough to leave her position. Her faces buries deeply in his neck. Their legs tangle, curling together like a fist.

His hands are running through her hair. Her grip on him is no longer desperate or clinging, and her hands begin to rest on the strong ledges of his shoulders. 

As she gets a hold of herself, the presence of shame creeps up on her. She gently pushes away from him, quickly hiding her face with her hair. She runs her hands over her eyes and under her nose. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice hoarse. “It’s stupid. Crying is a waste of time.” She turns over to the other side of the bed, sitting on the edge. She reaches for the tissues on his nightstand, dabbing it over her face. 

“That’s not true,” he says. She feels the bed shift under his weight, and he takes a seat beside her. 

She shakes her head. “It doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t—“

“It’s okay,” he says, interrupting her. He reaches up to touch her face, turning her to look at him. She averts her eyes, unable to bring herself to match his stare. 

“Tifa. Listen. It’s okay.”

She reaches up to take his hand in her own, lowering it from her face and continuing to avoid his gaze. She weaves their fingers together. 

“Thank you, Cloud. I…I really appreciate you…listening.”

“I’m here if you need anything,” he says, and he wraps his arm around her, pulling her into a gentle hug. Tifa sharply inhales before relaxing against him. She reaches around him, closing her eyes against his touch. 

“Okay,” she breathes. 

When they finally break away, Tifa runs a hand through her hair. “I should…probably clean up. I’m…” she gestures to the floor, standing and walking over to the door jam to pick up her shirt. She slips it back on. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

Cloud stands. “Tifa—“ 

She stops her trek, looking back at him. Gaining her courage, she hesitantly catches his eyes. She takes in a long, slow breath at the way he’s looking at her. It is kind and soft and, somehow, understanding. He does not look at her as if she has just sobbed into his neck. He looks at her like he sees her despair and her grief and _accepts_ it. Her heart swells with a different kind of ache. 

“Life…is never fair,” he says. “It won’t ever be okay, but…you’re not alone.”

Tifa jerks her head away, feeling the dry well of her emotions fill up again. She closes her eyes against them. 

“It isn’t,” she breathes, trying to steady her voice. “Thank you.”

She goes to the bathroom and scrubs at her face until she’s all out of tears. 


	12. XII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm a broken record, but I love each and everyone of you readers. Thanks for the support and for being here with me. ❤️
> 
> As always, have I told you all about [kotaface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aveyune23/pseuds/kotaface)? No? Because she's wonderful. She betas and knows my brain. Go read her stories and show her love. 
> 
> WARNING: there is more angst in this chapter, along with mentions/details of domestic abuse (but also, a little smut!) 
> 
> That aside, happy reading. I hope you enjoy this one!

She isn’t hungry when she steps out of the bathroom, but she finds a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt lying on top of the covers of the bed beside her wrinkled skirt and bra and underwear. She feels her cheeks heat up at the sight of them, which is ridiculous—but thinking of Cloud touching her underwear _without_ the urgency of sex on his mind is…strangely endearing. She hears Cloud moving around in the living area, and she shakes her head, smiling briefly as she takes the clothing he left for her. She slips them on, tying the drawstring tightly around her waist to keep them from falling down and rolling up the bottoms so they don’t drag on the floor. As she walks through the hallway to the living room, she sees Cloud in the kitchen, rummaging around and moving pots and pans along the countertop. 

“I usually eat cereal in the morning,” he says, glancing up. He pauses when he sees her, his eyes catching on the battered t-shirt she’s wearing. She is suddenly well aware that she isn’t wearing a bra. She bites the inside of her lip and tugs at the bottom of the shirt. It’s a wonder why she feels self-conscious. She’s worn his clothes in front of him, before. 

“…but I can make scrambled eggs without burning anything down,” he finishes.

Tifa tries to smile a little at him. He scratches the back of his head, and she walks up to him, kissing his cheek. 

“I can cook.”

“I can help,” he says. 

She shakes her head. “Go sit. Cooking helps me enough.”

She doesn’t have to elaborate. While he nods in acknowledgement, the frown doesn’t leave his face. 

“Okay. If you need something…”

“Yeah,” she says softly, pushing him out of his kitchen. “I know. I’ll ask.”

She falls into the pattern of cooking, exploring his cabinets, finding the different utensils available, and learning the layout of the land. 

Instead of going to the living area, Cloud takes a seat in one of the barstools lining the counter. He props his forearms in front of him, leaning forward against it. 

Tifa tries to pay him no mind, concentrating on the rhythm of gathering food and ingredients. She occasionally looks up to find him staring at her, and she darts her eyes away. She still feels the puffiness against her eyes and her cheeks, and she clears her throat. 

“I can make eggs, and you have some ham that I can fry up. I can also make pan fried potatoes…” she says, gesturing to the items she picked out and placed along the island. “Does any of that sound alright?”

Cloud raises his brows at her. “That sounds more than alright, Tifa.”

She nods, feeling a bit unbalanced by his gaze. “Okay. Great.” 

She takes a knife and a cutting board and begins chopping the potatoes, gets a pan hot with oil simmering against the teflon. She heats up another for the ham. The steady tempo of chopping and cooking begins to calm the swirl of stubborn emotions in her. Eventually, she looks back up to Cloud. He’s still watching her move around the kitchen, and she smiles. 

“How do you like your eggs? Sunny side up, overeasy, or scrambled?” she asks.

“If I was fancy, I’d say I can only eat them poached.”

“You know what a poached egg is? I’m shocked.”

He smirks. “I’m only dense about cooking food.”

“Mm,” she hums. She brings the cutting board over the hot oil in the pan, scraping the potatoes into it. The crackle and sizzling fills the air. “I forget you’re a connoisseur of restaurants.”

Once she’s seasoned the potatoes to her liking, she turns to look at him. He has his face propped on his fist, head tilted. His eyes, she swears, dart from her bottom to her face as she glances at him. 

She raises a brow at him. “Were you looking at my butt?”

His cheeks color at her blunt accusation. She stifles a smile. 

“I, uh…yes.”

She shakes her head. “I’m wearing your sweatpants. I have no butt in these.”

He begins smirking. The line of his lips curving up against the blush on his cheeks is somehow cute and attractive all at once. “I was wondering what type of underwear you wear on the weekends.”

She opens her mouth then closes it a moment after. She turns back to the potatoes, stirring them unnecessarily. 

“I don’t wear any,” she says. She clears her throat and busies herself with placing the ham slices in the other pan to fry. It gently bubbles in the center from the heat. “So, what kind of eggs?”

It takes an irrelevant amount of time for Cloud to answer. When Tifa glances at him over her shoulder, he’s running a hand through his hair. 

“Uh, I don’t care. What kind do you like?”

She hides her smile, placing the lid on the pan and heating up another, grabbing the butter and the eggs. “Overeasy.”

“I never eat them like that,” he says, and she hears his feet pat against the floor. In a moment, he’s beside her. “Teach me?”

“Sure. As long as you don’t distract me.”

“How would I do that?”

He’s smirking at her knowingly. She narrows her gaze at him, pushing lightly at his shoulder. 

“I’d at least like to finish breakfast before you try to undress me, Strife.”

His smirk turns into a grin at that. “Don’t worry. I’ll busy myself by thinking about you wearing my clothes without underwear.”

She laughs lightly, rolling her eyes. “What about you? Do you just wear sweatpants?”

“I put on a shirt sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“When you’re not here.”

“Ah. So it’s a service for me?”

He steps closer and reaches down, pinching her bottom. She jumps and squeaks, nearly dropping the egg in her hand. 

“Cloud!”

He smiles. “Viewing pleasure for you only,” he says, glancing down at her shirt before he turns his attention to the stove. He nods at the pan. “So, how do you make it?”

She huffs a little before she shows him how long to wait for the egg to denature, then flipping it when it’s fried and brown on the bottom. 

“I’ve always thought it was called overeasy because it _was_ easy,” she says. “Then you let it cook for another minute, and it’s done.”

“You make it look simple.”

She lifts the pan off the burner and slides the eggs onto a plate. “Wanna try it?”

“Alright…” he says. He takes her place, and she turns off the heat for the ham, adding the slices to separate plates. She checks the potatoes and, satisfied with their doneness, turns off the heat and lets them rest. She watches Cloud as he waits to flip the eggs, gently guiding him on how to hold the spatula to edge underneath the egg. As he follows her instructions, she lightly bumps his hip with hers. “You’re a natural egg flipper.”

“I’ll put it on my resume. Never know when I’ll need it.”

She grins before she’s hit with that fury of worry in her throat. _He’s leaving and taking your pieces with him._

She internally shakes her head at herself. 

“It’ll be much more notable than your CEO status.”

“It’s all about diversity. I’ll be unstoppable now.”

It becomes harder to smile as they finish fixing the plates together. They set up their spots on his couch, using pillows as table tops. Cloud turns on the TV, news reports headlining the bottom of the screen and the volume low. Before tucking into their food, Cloud asks, “Better?”

He’s alluding to earlier, to her crying and her father. She knows because of the way he looks at her, the word soft and tentative. Tifa looks down at her plate and allows herself to truly think about it. 

“Better,” she answers. The word is careful, as delicate as cracked glass. “Not as…better as I would like, but better enough.”

Cloud nods in acknowledgement and says nothing more about it. Tifa is half-grateful and desperate to say more. To say something hopeful, like _I’ll be fine, and he’s happy. Everything happens for a reason._ When he looks up at her, it is impossible to lie, and it is impossible to muster false cheer. Instead, she continues quietly eating the food on her plate, still not hungry but forcing it down regardless. 

“This was delicious, Tifa,” he says. 

When she looks up, she sees he’s cleaned his plate.

“Thank you,” she answers, smiling a little. “I’m glad you liked it.”

She pushes her food around a bit more before she gives up on eating, and Cloud offers to finish it. Laughing lightly, she hands it to him. 

Once the plates are empty and Cloud’s hunger is sated, they relax into the couch. Cloud props his arm along the top of the cushions, and Tifa scoots closer, finding the niche in his side. She lays her head against his shoulder and chest. His hand finds her hair. 

As Tifa listens to his lungs fill with air, she is overwhelmed by Cloud’s easy reception of her—her presence in his apartment, her struggle, her cooking. She turns her head to look up at him, and he catches her eye.

“What is it?” he asks.

_It’s everything you’ve done,_ she thinks.

“Nothing,” she answers, instead leaning forward to kiss the area right underneath his jaw. His hand stills on her hair at the contact. “I just…wanted to look at you.”

He brings his other hand around to touch her chin. He cradles it with his palm before coming forward to kiss her mouth. It is slow—it reminds her of his kiss last night before she fell asleep after asking if she could stay. It feels like he’s memorizing her. 

She isn’t sure how they manage it or when it happens, but the kiss evolves into something else. His tongue slips into her mouth, one hand now on her waist. Both of her hands are buried in his hair. Her back is on the couch cushions, and Cloud is hovering above her, his knees trapping one of her legs, her other dangling off the side. He pushes up her shirt until her breasts are bare to the room, and she moans when his mouth finally leaves hers to find the hardened peaks. She shifts and squirms underneath the hot, wet line of his tongue. His teeth gently graze against her, and her eyes flutter shut. She continues holding the back of his head, his hair soft and feathery and light. 

“Oh, Cloud,” she whispers, and the knee between her legs moves up higher until it presses against her. She doesn’t expect it, and she grinds against his thigh while he sucks the skin of her chest. His throat vibrates in a growl, and she feels it ripple across her stomach and down to where she connects with his leg. His sweatpants are both rough and soft all at once, and the friction between them is an indulgent, textural pleasure. She gasps as he maintains the pressure. She rocks against his lips and the heat hovering between them. He runs his tongue between her breasts, and the line he leaves is a shocking chill. Her breath shudders out of her, back arching to follow the trail of his mouth. He kisses her neck, sucking along the hollow beneath her jaw. Her hands fall from his head to his neck, his chest, down to the line of his own sweatpants. She pushes past the band to find his arousal, cradling the smooth, silky skin in her hand. He moans against her neck as she explores his length. “Oh, Gaia,” he breathes. 

He bites her throat while she gently tugs on him. “You feel so good in my hand,” she confesses, pinching her eyes and focusing on the sensation of his skin. 

“Oh, do I?” He licks down the column of her neck to her shoulder. “You taste like dessert.”

She huffs a laugh then moans when he presses his leg up harder against her. His hands roam to the band of her pants, and he shifts his legs away from her, dragging the pants down her thighs. 

“No such thing as breakfast with dessert,” she says, allowing him to pull the pants off her legs. 

“Now there is,” he answers, smirking down at her. Her cheeks flush, and he lowers his head to her abdomen, sucking on the soft skin below her belly button. 

“You know what’s sexy?” he whispers.

“Mm,” she moans. “You?”

His breath puffs against her in a laugh. “You think so?”

“ _Yes.”_

At her emphasis on the word, he glances up and catches her eye. He props himself up on his hands, gaze darkening. She bites her lip. 

“I was gonna say you, in my clothes,” he says, voice heavy. He moves his forearms underneath her thighs, sinking lower. His head is positioned right above her, and she nearly whimpers at the sight. 

“Cloud…” she says.

“But this is better. You on my clothes and in my mouth.”

He says nothing else before he drops his head, his tongue gliding over her arousal. His words and the wetness of him dart into her stomach, and she grips the couch cushions surrounding her. 

“Oh…oh…”

The pad of his tongue strokes and curls along her, filling the spaces of her folds. It is a warm, electric tease before he licks her clit, and she moans loudly. Her back arches again at the contact.

“Oh…fuck. Oh, Cloud.”

His hands readjust, coming around to open her up further for him. His mouth sucks on hidden creases, his teeth dragging against sensitive skin. Tifa’s hips rock unconsciously at the sensation, and when Cloud’s lips cover and fold over her own, his tongue pressing her clit, teeth grazing her lines, she sees nothing but a haze of bliss. 

She’s never been kissed so savagely there, cradled in the heat of another mouth. It’s a burn and an ache and a pulse. 

“Oh, Cloud, please, I’m—I’m…”

He doesn’t answer her with anything but licking and sucking. His touch claws at her throat, cutting off her windpipe. She can’t breathe, and she realizes she doesn’t want to—not when it feels so good. Oh, how can it feel _so good?_

“I can’t…” she whispers. She’s blind with ecstasy. “Cloud…”

He moans into her, and the vibrations make her buck up harder into his mouth. He sucks deeply, and she cries. 

“Just…a little…a little…” 

His tongue swipes against her two, three, four, countless times. She loses track, only concentrating on the building fire. Her breath is like lead in her chest. Her lungs feel like a burden. She can’t stand it. _She can’t stand it—_

She nearly screams as she comes, his mouth all over her, holding her in place. They are connected this way, too, and the thought floods her system. Her orgasm rams into her bones, and she shakes and clenches, body taut like a wire.

He leaves his tongue on her as she rides it out, and once she can breathe again, he sits up and hovers above her. He smiles down at her, his chest rising a bit breathlessly, and he says, “I always want to remember what you taste like.”

The unwelcome anxiety runs up her throat at his choice of words, and her mind whispers, _he’s leaving you and taking your pieces._ She reaches up to his neck and grips the hair at his nape, and she says, “You don’t have to remember.”

She pulls him down into a kiss. She tastes herself on his mouth, and it is visceral and sharp and sweet. She runs her tongue along his teeth, and his breath is hot against her jaw. 

“What do you mean?” he asks.

She wants to say something outrageously bold. Running on the high of the orgasm, she wants to say, _You have me, and you’ll always have me. You’ll never forget._

“I mean I—“ she starts, but she’s interrupted by the ring of a phone. 

Cloud curses above her. “Ignore it.”

He kisses her until the ringing stops. When his phone rings again, Tifa gently breaks away from him. 

“It might be important,” she says.

“It’s probably a spam call.”

“Twice in a row?” she asks, raising a brow. Cloud sighs and presses his forehead against hers before sitting up and reaching over to the coffee table where his phone rests. He glances at the ID, and he frowns. 

“I should take this,” he says, but he’s slow to answer the phone. When he finally does, Tifa is sure it’s on the last ring. 

“Rufus,” he states into the receiver. 

Tifa blinks in surprise. Rufus Shinra calling Cloud? Her heart squirms. 

She can’t make out what Rufus says, but she sees Cloud nod. 

“Yeah. Okay, good. Thanks. I’ll be there.” There’s a pause, and she sees Cloud scowl. “Shut the fuck up, Shinra.”

After that, Tifa can hear the laughter on the other end before Cloud hangs up. He turns to look at her, his scowl smoothing at her concerned look. 

“I have to meet with Rufus this afternoon. I’m surprised he called. He usually isn’t up this early on a Saturday.”

Tifa looks at him pointedly. “Really? It must be important.”

Cloud averts his gaze, rubbing his jaw. “Yeah…important.”

Tifa sits up and pulls his sweatpants back on. She curls her legs up onto the couch, hugging them to her chest. “Is…everything okay, Cloud?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s…fine.” He stands up and grabs their dirty dishes from the table, and he makes his way to the kitchen.

The unease settles over her as she sits on the couch, watching him soak the dishes in the sink. It only takes her a few seconds before she hops off her seat, making her way to him. 

“I meant what I said earlier,” she says, placing her hand on his forearm. “I’m here if you need to talk about anything.”

“Yeah. I know.” He shakes his head. “Sorry. It’s not a big deal. I’m just annoyed I have to see Rufus today.”

He’s evading again. She can see it like the flutter of a curtain. He smirks at her, but it doesn’t feel as genuine. It somehow seems more obvious, now. Tifa isn’t sure if it’s because she knows his expressions better, or if Cloud is starting to struggle with donning his armor. 

Either way, Tifa gives his arm a squeeze. She rises on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “I can put those in the dishwasher.”

“No, that’s okay. You cooked. I’ll clean,” he says.

“Alright,” she says, stepping away from him and leaning back against the countertop. She watches him move around the kitchen, grabbing the pans from the stove and the cutting board and dirtied knife. His face is pinched as though he’s thinking about something else far more interesting than where to place the dishes in the washer.

As he closes the door, he sighs. “It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you, Tifa. I do, I just…” he pauses, running a hand through his hair. “I signed a nondisclosure agreement. Shinra has some things going on in the background that I can’t…discuss. Nothing bad,” he says hurriedly. “I wouldn’t have allowed the merger had that been the case. And at the time, I had no problem with the agreement. Now…” He glances at her, the struggle in his eyes much more prominent.

“Cloud, it’s okay,” she says softly. “I understand.” 

“It’s not that I think I can’t trust you—“ he begins.

She shakes her head at him. “No, I know. You could be sued or lose your job or…I don’t know. A lot of terrible things.”

He shrugs, turning his eyes to the floor. “I guess.”

She thumbs at the drawstring, gnawing at the inside of her lip. She takes a deep breath. 

“Cloud…can I ask you if you’ll still work for Shinra after the merger?” She quickly follows up with another statement. “I know I have no right to ask, and that it’s none of my business, but…I was just…wondering.”

_Thinking about it constantly,_ she thinks, her anxiety a bullet in her spine. 

He’s quiet for a moment, but it feels like a lifetime. Tifa almost takes it back, suddenly not wanting to know. What’s the saying? She thinks. Ignorance is bliss? She can be ignorant for a week longer. She’ll be just fine with that. 

“I don’t know,” he answers. “Haven’t decided.”

She nods slowly, taking it in but not thinking too hard about it. He says _decided,_ as if he has full authority over his options. It makes her heart thud, a sudden chilled rush of adrenaline spiking in her system. _Later,_ she thinks. She’ll spend so much of her time thinking _later._

“Have you thought about what you’ll do if you don’t work there?” she asks.

Cloud crosses his arms over his chest, glancing toward the walls in front of them. “A little. At first, I thought about traveling. Driving off on my motorcycle to anywhere but here,” he starts, smirking a little wryly. “I need to uh, visit my mom. I’ve…neglected her.”

Tifa perks up at that. He’s never talked about his mother before. “Does she live very far?”

“No, she doesn’t. She’s in Edge. I could visit her a lot more, I just…don’t,” he says, frowning. He shifts his weight. 

“Because of work?” she asks. She feels as well as hears how tentative her words are as they come out of her mouth. 

He lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I say because of work. I think it’s more of an excuse than anything.”

Tifa nods, understanding that all too well. “Are you close to her?”

“Pretty close. I mean, I guess as close as I can be…” he pauses. “Uh, sorry. Talking about her or family in general is…complicated.”

His tangled words make Tifa smile. “Luckily, I know what you mean.”

He glances up to her, his eyes falling to her lips. “I talk to her when I can. She’s always tried to be there for me, and I should treat her better.” He averts his eyes again. “I don’t know.”

His crossed arms are coiling tighter. The muscle framing his jaw clenches, and he reminds her of an animal, trapped in the cage of his thoughts. She steps closer, overtaken with the urge to assuage his discomfort. She places a hand on his shoulder, and he looks up. He slowly drops his arms. 

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, Cloud,” she says. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You don’t—didn’t,” he says. “I’m just…not good at talking about myself.” 

Tifa grins at that. “I know.” She wraps her hand around his wrist, pulling him back to the couch. “C’mon. Let’s sit.”

He follows behind her, taking a seat on the end of the sofa. She sits beside him, the cushion sinking and allowing her to fall back into his side. It’s a position they’re used to taking, and Tifa settles against him. He lifts one arm over the top, and she rests her head against his arm. 

He looks at her for a while. She doesn’t say anything, curling up her knees and resting her hands on top of them. She gently bunches up the fabric and releases it, waiting for him to speak.

Eventually, he does. She sees it when he decides on his words, his eyes finding the rhythmic motion of her hands. He takes a breath. “I’m not very good with…expression,” he says. “Talking and…how I feel.”

She smiles. “Yeah. I kinda figured that out.”

He blushes, shifting on the couch cushion. “I’m not sure how much is just me and how much it’s from how I grew up.”

“Both, I’m sure,” she says. “How’d you grow up?”

He’s quiet for a while, and Tifa bites her tongue from taking back her question. She doesn’t want him to retreat, but his eyes begin unfocusing as he stares at her hands.

A film of silence settles over them before he breaks it. “My dad…” he starts slowly. “My dad always wanted me to be more than what I was, I think. He disciplined. My mom comforted. It had always been that way.” He rests his head back against the top of the couch. “I was small for my age. I remember crying a lot.” At that, he smirks. It is a dry and brittle thing on his face. “I was sensitive. We lived out in the country. We had some land and some animals, and when one of the goats couldn’t produce milk, he gave me a gun and told me to shoot it. What good are you if you can’t perform what you were born for? He’d say that, occasionally. If I couldn’t do what he asked, then I was no son of his.”

Tifa watches his face and takes in his words. He has no expression, and his tone is easy and relaxed as he speaks. 

“I didn’t want to be good for nothing. So I did it. I cried for weeks. He was more disappointed in my emotions afterwards than proud of the action by itself.” He scoffs a laugh. “He’d get so angry at me. I remember thinking, what if he takes me out back and shoots me, too?” He pauses, hesitating before his next words. “I started…uh, hiding when I needed to cry. Either in my room or my closet or the bathroom. Didn’t want to deal with his rage and disappointment.”

Tifa is quiet for a moment. “How old were you?”

Cloud scratches his chin. “I dunno. Five, six.”

She reaches up, her fingers grazing his cheek. Cloud blinks and looks down at her. 

“He shouldn’t have treated you that way, Cloud.”

He shakes his head, shrugging. “You know when you’re young, and you don’t realize what’s normal? It was all normal to me. I didn’t think any differently about it. It didn’t make me sad. I was just…afraid all the time.”

Tifa reaches up and takes his hand from the back of the couch. She brings it around her, and she rests into his side. She begins to weave her fingers along his palm. He absently begins to caress the roughened skin around her knuckles. 

“I didn’t look anything like him except for the green in my eyes. I look like my mom, and I don’t think that helped foster much affection for me.” 

“Why’s that?” she asks, feeling as though she already knows.

“Half the time, I didn’t think they loved each other, but I didn’t think about that until I was older. He left when I was six for the Wutain War. It was a long time. He was deployed for three years. When he came back, I…” he pauses. He turns his head to look out the window, and Tifa can’t see his expression. “I never knew him before he left. All I remember is a feeling. The dread, you know. The fear of disappointment and the fear of him gripping my shoulders and telling me that good little boys don’t cry about anything.”

Tifa thinks about a smaller Cloud, staring into a green-eyed gaze bearing down on him, his skin thickening and his heart hiding and afraid. She doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath until she asks, “What did your mom do?”

“She was there,” he says. “She’d hold me when dad was out working in the field. She told me she loved me and that she didn’t believe I was weak. I remember asking something like, “Do you love me like dad loves me?” and she started sobbing really, really hard. Scared me half to death. I thought I killed her with how…sudden her reaction was.”

Tifa feels her chest tighten. 

“I realized how unhappy she had been, before dad left for war. Those three years he was gone were some of the best in my life. We tended the land and animals. We made whatever food we wanted. We read books and laughed and played board games and watched movies. She taught me cards. I was seven and could play poker.”

Tifa smiles as she listens to him. He is so free with his words as they sit together, and when she looks up to see his face, though still obscured and turned away, knows he must be in another place. 

_But he’s comfortable enough with me,_ she thinks, and the thought grips her heart and doesn’t let it go. 

“He came back when I was nine. I had this thought that I was going to show him how strong I had gotten while he was away. I had this dream that he’d be so pleased with me when he arrived home. I measured my height every week. I didn’t know how scrawny I was. Funny, the things you remember, isn’t it? The things that stick with you.”

Tifa is afraid to break his contemplation, for fear that it’ll break this spell he’s under. His question sounds rhetorical, as if he’s asking himself. 

“He came back worse. He’d always been easily angered, but he came back…mean. Post-traumatic stress. He started drinking more—he drank before, but it became his favorite thing to do. He’d put whiskey in his coffee. He’d take his flask out to the field. It didn’t take away how strong he was. He could lift all of our equipment without breaking a sweat. He killed all the prairie wolves with one slash of his sword, and through _everything,_ I still wanted to be just like him.”

He’s quiet for a long time. He leans his head back against the head of the couch, staring up at the ceiling. 

“He was such an asshole. My mom would call him a dark angel from heaven, because he saved her from her family and gave her one of her own. Once, she had been drunk, and she told me he was a beautiful man. She never drank, but she was drunk that night, and she said, ‘You know what? As beautiful as he is, I think he’s the most beautiful when he walks out that door.’”

A black smile creeps onto his lips. “I remember her pointing at the entryway, because it was forceful and unkind and she laughed, and it didn’t sound like her at all. It was like she was someone else. When my dad came back, he yelled at her for drinking, saying, ‘Don’t you see what drink does to me?’ And he slapped her around. The normal stuff, except that he threw her. He’d never done that, before. I was so _mad_ at him, I grabbed his arm to do…anything. He flung me into a table, and that’s when he realized what he was doing, I think. He stopped and looked around at us, kneeling by my mom and telling her how sorry he was. He looked at me, and I remember him hesitating. I’m sure he told me sorry, too, but I can’t remember it. I can only remember him hesitating, like he didn’t regret it. Like I wasn’t something to be sorry for, only sorry about.”

He swallows. “And I _still_ loved him, that son of a bitch. I would have done anything for him. I hated his guts, and I loved him.”

Tifa feels a deep pool of hurt surround her. She doesn’t realize how tightly she’s holding his hand until he looks down at her, trying to pry it away.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says, letting him go. They catch eyes, and Cloud’s eyebrows raise, his eyes widening, and then he looks away, shifting beneath her. 

“I, uh…” he starts, and Tifa panics. He can’t close up—she can’t let him drop his blinds again. 

“Is that why you learned sword fighting?” she asks hurriedly. “Because of your dad?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Yeah, he’s the reason. I guess he’s the reason for a lot of things.”

“What other things?” she whispers. She finds his hand again, and she concentrates on tracing the grooves of his palm. He lets her, and her body rises and falls with his deep sigh. 

“I whined enough about wanting to be strong that he finally made a sword for me. He gave me lessons. I…failed a lot.”

He doesn’t expand on it, and Tifa wonders about the word _failed_ and how he says it. She thinks of the chopsticks at the restaurant—such a silly, simple thing he’d taken the time to make flawless. She thinks about the grace he walks with, holding himself with a back ridged in perfection. Most of all, she thinks of his blurred lines outside of his suits, and how it is far from hardened perfection and much closer to smudged vulnerability. Those blurred lines of him are tangled, haphazardly woven, and hidden.

“My mom stayed with him when she could have left. She stayed with him until he drank himself into stupors, and she stayed with him after all the beatings and the bruises and broken bones. I thought I could—“ he pauses. He exhales sharply. “I thought I could protect her. Use my fighting skills to stop him from hurting her. Of course, I _couldn’t._ He was too strong, and he’d only hurt her even more to hurt me. I was so _angry_ all the time. I was angry at my mom for staying with him and for accepting her unhappiness. I hated what my father was and what he’d become. I finally realized how much I wished everything was different, and how it would never be—“ he stops, and she can feel the dark redness seep into his words, like these thoughts have been sucking on his bones like parasites, full and fat with blood. 

“And I wanted that, you know? I wanted a dream. I wanted my mom to be happy again, and I wanted my father to be gone. But I also thought I could change him if I could only be what he wanted me to be.”

“Cloud…” she says softly, unsure of what she wants to say. He doesn’t seem to hear her. 

“Then he was hospitalized when I was sixteen. Alcohol poisoning. Liver cirrhosis. Failing kidneys. The whole thing. My mom was there at the hospital with him every fucking day. She gave him everything she had, and he had the audacity to _die._ Just like that, after everything he put her through and after everything he did. He died. It was the best thing for us, but at the time…” 

Tifa hears his heart beating, quicker and harder than it should. She brings his hand to her chest and wraps it with both of her own, holding it close. 

“It wasn’t?” she finishes quietly. 

“No. It wasn’t.”

They hang onto the silence like the stars cradle the moon. It lays over them like a blanket, but Tifa’s insides shiver like they’re in a blizzard without cover. She imagines all of it. She imagines a teenaged Cloud, standing over his dying father and wanting two things all at once: for his father to leave them, and for his father to stay and learn how to love him. 

A tear falls down her cheek, and she sighs. 

“I swore I wouldn’t be like him,” he says, eventually, so softly it’s no louder than the falling of snow. “Ten years later, I’ve finally realized that’s all I’ve ever been.”

Tifa inhales a strangled gasp. “That’s not true.”

His chest jerks in a laugh. “Tifa, look at this past year. Hell, look at my entire career. I cut people down and climbed over them to get where I am. I placed myself in advantageous positions to hurry along my promotions, and I thought once I made it here, I’d finally feel…”

Another tear falls down her face, and Tifa wipes it away. 

“I don’t know. Like I’d finally feel like my dad would be proud of me.” He laughs again, low and ugly, and Tifa hates this. She feels all the anger for him, the nebulous hatred for a man she will never know. She smashes his hand to her breastbone, keeping it as close to her as she can. 

“Why do I still fucking care about him?” he says. “He’s been gone for so long, and I still—“ 

At that, Tifa sits up. She turns and hovers over him, and the emotions she feels from his own twist her up so badly, she glowers into his face. She wants to pull out all of the black roots from his heart, to save him from the haunts that fill up those dark, dusty corridors inside of him. 

Her look surprises him. He blinks, and his words are stemmed. 

“It doesn’t matter. He was your father and you loved him and you have every right to feel all these things, Cloud. You don’t have to hide away, and you don’t have to feel unworthy, and you don’t need to—“ she hiccups, and she realizes she’s _crying,_ really crying _again._ “You don’t need to accept unhappiness like your mom did. You’re meant for better things.”

Cloud stares at her. He reaches up to cradle her face in his palm, and he thumbs away the trails of tears. 

“You don’t need to cry for me, Tifa,” he says. 

She furrows her brows and she doesn’t know what her face looks like with the swaths of emotion crowding all around it. Her lips feel like they’re twisting in a grimace and a sneer. 

“Don’t tell me what to do, Cloud. You need to understand.”

He sadly smiles at her. It is small, but the curve of it is broken. “What do I need to understand?”

She shakes her head, angry and disheartened and full with his hurt. She raises her palms around the sides of his face, holding him with her hands. She presses her fingers into his skin until they cage him. She stares into his eyes, and she sees the green in them—a mark of his origin, a scar of his past, and what he must examine in himself every day. 

“Can’t you see?” she says, her voice raspy. “You’re not your father.”

He places his hands on her forearms, gently peeling her palms away. 

“Then what am I?” he asks. 

_How dare he,_ she thinks violently. _How dare he not know?_

How dare his life keep something so beautiful and marvelous and brilliant from him? 

“You’re gentle,” she says, her words wobbly and wet. They stream out of her like a combination of punches. “You’re kind. You’re bold and intelligent and thoughtful and awkward and _strong._ You’re so strong, and I don’t know how you don’t realize that you _are_.” She claws her fingers into his chest, and she leans her face closer and closer. “You are uniquely and wonderfully and fearfully made, Cloud Strife. Never think any differently. Please, never think you’re not.” 

His hands have come to rest on her waist. He continues staring at her. Staring and staring as if there is nothing else to do. 

He doesn’t speak. She’s breathing heavily, and she realizes she’s still catching her breath between her tears and her words. 

Finally, he says, “I saw you for the first time three years ago.”

She’s so jarred by the words, she nearly gasps. “Wh…what?”

“I was in the financial department, then. You were one of the junior designers. I rarely ever passed through, but that day I had an assignment to deliver to Reeve. As I walked down the hallway, I saw you leaning over a desk, talking to Barret about something. You started laughing as I walked by, and I immediately knew who you were.”

Tifa’s mouth parts. “I didn’t…I didn’t see you.”

He shakes his head. “You wouldn’t have. I thought, “that must be Tifa Lockhart.” I knew you were one of the first employees. Part of the first five. And I had always known you were…”

He smirks, but it is still dry and humorless. “You were beautiful and I guess…unachievable. That made me mad, too.”

“Cloud, you _thought_ that?” she asks, flabbergasted. “Why?”

“Everyone loved you,” he says, easily, as if it’s general knowledge, like grass being green. “Someone like you was never supposed to hang around someone like me.”

His words catch her heart like a fish hook. “Of course you thought that,” she says. A sudden thought flashes across her like lightning, amidst all of her emotion. It connects her to a shrouded path she has never seen before. “Those emails you sent me. You told me you sent them to make me remember how…good I was. And when I met with you that first time, you were…”

“An asshole,” he says, and he scoffs a laugh. 

“Was that you hiding?” she asks, staring at him. “Behind all your mean words and intimidation and apathy?”

Her question silences him. His mouth falls into a straight line before he breaks eye contact, averting his gaze. “I was…frustrated. Frustrated because of your art, but also because…I, uh, was reminded all the time about how great you were. From Reeve and Barret and…” he trails, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I was…I didn’t know how to…” he sighs. 

She feels her face soften as she looks at him. “You could have just been…nice.”

“No,” he says, still avoiding her gaze. A light blush appears on his cheeks. “It’s like what you said. I was…hiding. You came into my office for that first meeting, and all I knew was that I had to keep you working for the company. You already despised me. I didn’t know how to talk to you or what to do besides to continue being…myself. Bullying you.” His blush deepens. “Then I was both so…angry at myself and so…turned on by you and the image of you being in my office. Shiva, it was like I’d never talked to a girl before.”

That deep warmth pools into Tifa’s stomach at his words and his embarrassment. It suddenly makes sense to her. He’s shedding his skin, and she can see the raw, shiny, untouched pieces of him. She runs her hands up his chest and leans closer. 

“I think you mean, continuing to be _business_ Cloud. He’s not the real Cloud.”

Her touches encourage him to bring his hands around her back, cradling her against him. “Yeah…maybe.”

“No maybes. I know. You were so cold and closed off in that meeting. Now, you’re sitting on a couch with me, telling me all your secrets. You bought me a _flower._ You…” Tifa pauses, blushing, before carrying on. “You touch me in ways no one else has, and you look at me like…”

The words tangle up in the cartilage of her throat. Her eyes widen as she tries to form different words. 

“How do I look at you?” he asks, and his stare is a laser of dark, navy blue. It reminds her of the night sky. 

_You look at me like you might love me._

“Like you…” she tries. “Like you looked at the food we ate, earlier.” 

He smiles a bit at that. “I guess I always crave you,” he says. 

At that, she laughs lightly, and it finally feels like they’ve weathered something. A storm or a deep excavation of their emotions. She’s tired, but she’s happy, and she’s even happier seeing the smile on his face. 

She leans forward into a kiss. It is gentle and hopeful. She tries to pour her appreciation into it, her _thank you for letting me see you,_ and her _you are uniquely created._ She wants him to feel it as brightly and forcefully as she does. He kisses her back slowly and softly, and it is endlessly sensual. It is a thrumming cadence, rippling across the space surrounding them. Tifa doesn’t think their kisses have ever felt like this—so lackadaisical, so indulgent—as if they have all the time in the world to kiss and kiss and kiss some more. 

They lean back into the sofa. It begins to hug their bodies, dipping into a shallow cradle. Tifa is tightening up, and she can feel his arousal pressing into her thigh, but neither do anything about it. They merely let their hands roam and palm and squeeze. All urgency is gone, but it does not diminish the fire blazing behind her sternum. The passion is a relentless thing, and she wants him—she always seems to _want_ him—but the action of tender and simple kisses unlatches a crate of burning coals inside her. It expands in her system with an even and steadily rising heat. 

She can do this forever and never tire. 

They break apart sometime later. Tifa is unsure of the time, and she is uncaring. Cloud’s eyes are glassy and hazy, obscured from the passion they create like morning fog rolling across the plains. 

“I didn’t mean for you to be my therapist,” he says, but he’s smiling. 

“I’m always happy to listen.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles, kissing her temple. “I don’t think I’ve talked about that stuff in…” 

“A long time?”

“…yeah.”

She runs her fingers through his bangs, pressing them back from his forehead. “If there’s ever a reason for you to cry, Cloud, remember you no longer have to hide. I’ll be your safe place if you need it,” she says.

He stares at her, blinking through their haze. 

“You, too,” he answers, his voice a thick rumble. “I’ll be here.”

* * *

They lie on the couch together until the clock edges toward Cloud’s meeting time with Rufus. Cloud showers and dresses, and Tifa remains on the couch, contemplating everything he told her while she’s alone in the living room. She gazes out of the window into the world beyond. She imagines a young Cloud, killing a goat, carrying farm equipment, steeling himself against verbal punches from his father. She imagines him donning leather hides, first, evolving into metal sheets as he grows up, and finally, layer upon layer of apathy, shoving any other emotion deep into the cracks of his heart. 

When he emerges from his bedroom, he is in a dress shirt and slacks, forgoing a tie and a jacket. It is as much of a relaxed lunch attire as it can get for Cloud. 

“I’ll drop you off at home before I head over there,” he says. 

“Okay,” she says, gathering her clothes and her purse, toeing her feet into her heels and feeling ridiculous as she stands next to him, baggy in the oversized sweats.

As they drive and pull up to her apartment, Tifa says, “Come over after you’re finished.”

Cloud looks at her. “You sure? It probably won’t be until evening. I have a few errands to run afterwards.” 

She smiles, leaning forward to kiss him. “Of course, I’m sure.”

Strange, she thinks, as she walks into her apartment, how once she had never been so _unsure_ in her life. 

* * *

Tifa manages to keep her mind busy and bustling through the rest of the day. She finishes the last project for work, sending it off to Finn for any last minute revisions. She goes on a short run, having missed her session at the dojo that morning. After she showers, she texts her girls. 

**Tifa:** _How is everyone? Updates?_

Yuffie responds immediately.

**Yuffie:** _Everything has been gucci, except for this one thing that happened yesterday. I’ll tell you guys tomorrow._

**Aerith:** _I have missed you guys. Life has been normal. Zack has been sweeter than usual, if that’s possible? And Yuffie, what thing??? Tell us now._

**Jessie:** _I’ve honestly just been having a lot of sex. Aerith, do I smell a proposal?? Yuffie, SPILL IT._

Tifa snorts at Jessie’s text, and she thinks about Aerith’s, wondering about their relationship. They’ve been dating for a little over a year, now. Aerith is the one they’ve decided to settle down first in their group. 

**Aerith:** _Oh, we haven’t even talked about that, yet! You know Zack. He does this sometimes._

**Yuffie:** _Excuse me, Aerith, but you’re getting engaged, we all know it._

Tifa grins. 

**Tifa:** _He has to make sure he has our approval, first._

**Jessie:** _He marries you, he marries us. Poor soul._

**Aerith:** _Oh, he is well aware._

**Yuffie:** _Okay, okay, so a guy came into my shop and told me he loved the ninja stars and shruikens I make. Well, he didn’t say LOVED but he said that he ‘admired how they were fashioned’, and I was like, who are you, from the fifteenth century?_

Tifa laughs out loud at that. 

**Jessie:** _Oooooohhhh, so a mature dude? Or an obnoxious know-it-all?_

**Yuffie:** _Both maybe?? I’m not sure. He was hard to read. Anyway. He asked if I would ever be interested in selling on a higher scale, and I was like, do you KNOW how much I love my gil? Fuck yeah, I would love to sale on a higher scale._

**Aerith:** _Was he a business man? Or a scam?_

**Tifa:** _Aerith, you know Yuffie knows how to sniff out a scammer. ;)_

**Aerith:** _Very true._

**Jessie:** _OMG did you talk about logistics and get hot and bothered? Did you TAKE HIM TO THE BACK OF THE STORE?_

**Yuffie:** _Jess, how dare you know me._

Tifa starts laughing again. 

**Tifa:** _Yuffie!!! Did you really??_

**Aerith:** _OMG LOL you didn’t!_

**Yuffie:** _Okay, no I didn’t, I was very professional. You’d be both disappointed and proud of me. So we got to talking, and I nearly texted you guys right after but…he works for SOLDIER._

Tifa gasps out loud. 

**Tifa:** _What?? Who??_

**Aerith:** _You kept this from us, why???_

**Jessie:** _The. Drama. Yuffie, you are learning from me, aren’t you!_

**Yuffie:** _Okay, I am straight up cackling. Let’s wait for brunch._

**Aerith:** _Omg don’t you dare do this to us._

**Tifa:** _Yuffie, this is the cruelest thing you’ve ever done!_

**Jessie:** _I love this but also hate this soooo much, YUFF, you SLUT._

Yuffie sends a devil-faced emoji. 

**Yuffie:** _Love you guys. HAH._

Tifa shakes her head, narrowing her eyes. She thinks about all the employees at SOLDIER, trying to remember relationship statuses, who’s married, who’s currently unattached. Who would go outside and look for different pieces of equipment to potentially license or buy out?

Reeve is too old and uninterested in weaponry. Barret…Tifa laughs. Genesis? No. He is too aloof…but…well, maybe. Does he have a girlfriend? Surely not…

She laughs at the thought of Finn, but she knows he had a girlfriend last time she knew. And who would say something similar to _admiring_ how the weapons were _fashioned?_

Tifa is in the kitchen, thinking and sipping at a glass of water when it dawns on her. She chokes on her swallow, coughing up a lung and beginning to laugh. She grabs her phone from the counter. 

**Tifa:** _Omg. I know who it is. Yuffie, I bet you five gil._

**Yuffie:** _Shut up. You do not._

**Jessie:** _TIFA YES._

**Aerith:** _Tell us tell us, I’m dying._

Tifa bites her lip, hovering over her next response before the notification banner appears at the top with a message from Cloud. Tifa clicks on it automatically.

**Cloud:** _Hey. Just finished. Be at your place in about 30?_

Tifa smiles. 

**Tifa:** _Perfect._

She goes back to the group message. She contemplates before being inspired by the fact that Cloud is coming to her apartment and Yuffie’s playful wickedness.

**Tifa:** _Guess we’ll find out tomorrow._

**Jessie:** _OMG YOU TWO ARE THE FUCKING WORST._

**Aerith:** _How dare you, Teef? The BETRAYAL._

Tifa shakes her head, laughing at their responses. 

**Tifa:** _Sorry, you guys. It’ll be more fun in person._

**Jessie:** _Ugh. I’m calling Biggs to burn up my frustration._

**Aerith:** _Fiiiinee. I’m also excited to hear about this Biggs situation, Jessie._

**Tifa:** _Same._

**Yuffie:** _*waggles eyebrows*_

**Jessie:** _Don’t worry. I have all my stories ready._

Tifa has changed into her normal pajamas, consisting of loose shorts and a baggy t-shirt, with her hair piled on her head in a bun, curled up on the couch with a cup of hot tea when she hears the knock on her door. Her heart races instantaneously, and she sighs at it, shaking out her unnecessary nerves as she stands up and goes to the door. 

She’s greeted by Cloud in a casual shirt and jeans and boots. She smiles at him, stepping back to let him in. 

“Hi,” she says.

“Hey,” he smiles back, entering her apartment. 

“How was lunch?”

“…informative,” Cloud answers. “Not bad.”

She closes the door behind him, crossing her arms. “Rufus Shinra, not bad?”

He scoffs a laugh, following her as she walks back into her living area. He begins taking off his boots, setting them by the kitchen counter. “He’s always a little annoying, but…we came to an agreement.”

Tifa raises her brows at him. “You did?”

Cloud nods. “Yeah.” 

When he doesn’t elaborate, Tifa asks, “Was it…what you wanted?”

Tifa doesn’t miss the way he looks at her. It is brief, but it is filled with that _something_ again. It reminds her of the look someone takes before they blow out the candles on a birthday cake, like a hope and a wish. It’s gone once he blinks, as though he remembers himself. 

“Yes,” he says. “As much as I could have hoped for, anyway.”

Uncertain how to respond, she clears her throat and gestures toward the room. “Well, this is my place.”

Cloud takes it in, glancing from her eggshell white painted walls, to her bookshelf in the corner, to her sofa and rug and coffee table. Her apartment is much smaller than his condo, with the kitchen three steps from her living room. Her office door is windowed and off to the right, allowing the view of her desk and computer and miscellaneous decorations strewn beside her keyboard. On the other side of her living room is the door to a guest bathroom, her bedroom door closed halfway a few feet to the right of it. 

She has few paintings on the walls. One is from Aerith, who, in a fit of creativity over the past year, dabbled in watercolors and acrylics, creating the scene of her mother’s front garden and pond. It is a myriad of smudged flowers and green blankets of grass and the black and blue shadows of the water under the midday sun. Tifa loved it so much, she hung it above her couch for everyone to view and admire. 

He glances into her office space, and his eyes catch on Aerith’s painting for a few moments. He looks over her bookshelf and he asks, “You like reading?”

“Occasionally, when I have the time,” she says, clasping her hands behind her back. “I’ve been too busy these days.”

Cloud taps one of the shelves, reading the spines. Tifa has a sudden anxiousness as he looks over them. It’s almost as if he’s examining the ridges of her mind, taking a closer glance over her deeper interests. 

“Nonfiction?” he asks. 

Tifa glances to the floor, toeing the ground and feeling utterly vulnerable. “Yes. I like history and crime, but other things, too.”

Cloud smiles at that, settling away from it. “I like it,” he says, giving the room a general glance. 

“Thanks,” she says. “Not as fancy as yours, but I somehow make do.”

Cloud scoffs a laugh at that. “I’m not sure how,” he teases. “I think I like your space better than mine.”

“Why’s that?” she asks, walking up to him. 

“It’s…comfortable. Lived in. Mine looks the way it did when I moved into it.”

She smiles up at him. “Sounds to me like you have to actually _live_ in it, then.”

He blinks down at her. He reaches up to touch her cheek, and she feels her neck heat up at the gesture. “I should, shouldn’t I?”

Unable to take it any longer, Tifa brings her hands up around his head and pulls him down into a kiss. He kisses her back, wrapping his hands around her waist. 

Tifa breaks away and looks up into his face. She makes a decision right then, as he stands in front of her, looking like he belongs in her small, cramped living room, cluttered with a large sofa and too many chairs. He’s another fixture in here, something detailed and unnecessary like an impulse buy at a trinket shop. He shouldn’t fit. 

She grabs his wrist and steps backward toward her bedroom door. “C’mere,” she says, the word hovering in the air between them. 

He lets her take him to her bedroom, and he’s able to glance around for a moment before she closes the door, grabbing his wrist again and tugging him onto the mattress. 

“Tifa—“

She stems his voice with a kiss, hovering over him. She’s been thinking about his childhood all day—during her run, during her shower, as she finished her work. She’s been thinking about him hiding from her and everyone, attempting to find his happiness but avoiding it all at once. Happiness is such an intangible thing—so heavy yet fleeting, so quick yet so slow. There is no rhyme or reason to it. It is there, and then it is gone. 

“Remember what you told me, before? ‘Let me help you’?” she asks between kisses. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. 

She smiles against him before sitting up, curling her hands around the bottom of her shirt. “Then let me help you, now.”

She peels the shirt away and throws it to the floor. He stares at her before she leans forward again, curving into his chest, kissing him and holding his shoulders. She kisses him until he moves underneath her, slowly taking off his own shirt. They pause and stare at one another before continuing their kiss. 

It is different in her room, she thinks. It can’t just be something she imagines. It’s different because she wants him here, the windows shuttered and closed off from the outside views and landscapes. There is a gray shadow that lines her walls, but it is not dark or dreary. It’s like they are under blankets, in their own palmful of the world that no one knows except for them. 

Cloud gently touches her waist. Her hands hold his neck. She feels him come alive underneath her, the hardened press of arousal afflicted with desire and need. Her legs open further around his hips. She tastes the slick edges of his tongue. He breathes into her mouth between each lingering pull of their lips. 

“Tifa,” he whispers. “I’m…”

She shakes her head, rubbing against him. He moans, and she gasps. 

“Let me help you find the real you,” she says.

She slowly unbuttons his jeans. He assists in sliding them off his legs. Still clad in his underwear and her in thin, loose shorts, they don’t touch, not yet. But they feel close. It suddenly feels like they are inside each other’s skin with the way he looks at her, with the way she caresses his chest with her hands. He leans up to kiss her, his roughened palms gliding over the middle of her back, along the points of her shoulder blades. She moans into him, his pressure everywhere, the ache a pleasurable pain. It is deep, she thinks. The deepest thread there is, connecting from where they touch to the apex of her heart. 

“Tifa,” he mutters, his voice quiet and bare. “You already have.”


	13. XIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you all again for the support. It is the most phenomenal thing I've ever experienced.
> 
> [kotaface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aveyune23/pseuds/kotaface) is my main squeeze. She's one of my wives. She's part of my soul forever. 
> 
> Also shout out to [SassyUnicorn7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyUnicorn7/pseuds/SassyUnicorn7) for being all around awesome and giving me tips and tricks and wisdom and somehow reading this more times than I thought anyone would care to read it. I love you! Thanks for being amazing. Go check her out on youtube. She makes the BEST GMVs.
> 
> Happy reading! Hope you enjoy this one!

_You already have._

The words fill Tifa like a waterfall. Her thread snaps against their pressure. As his hands cradle her back, she grips the sides of his face and smashes her lips into his with as much force as she’s able. She can hardly breathe in between kisses. His words repeat over and over in her head. They begin to hang against her chest—like a weighted blanket, like a hug. Something heavy—something crushing. It is almost too much. It is almost like all the air has been sucked out of her, surrounding her in a vacuum and daring her to live in it. 

His hands fall to her shorts, and he peels them down her thighs. Gasping, she lifts up her hips and helps push them to her ankles, pausing to kick them off to the side before she continues kissing him. It’s an onslaught. It is as if she needs to fight his lips with her own, tugging and pulling and biting. 

He groans as she rolls against his arousal. They are both slick and warm, and the deep tightness coils up in her belly. His hands roam and caress, landing on her bottom and squeezing. The touches are gentle, somehow, despite how hard they’re kissing each other.

“I love that you don’t wear underwear on the weekends,” Cloud mumbles against her lips. 

She sighs, smiling. “I love that you’re in my bedroom.”

“I love…” he grunts, interrupting himself as she rolls over him again. She feels him buck up, his arousal grinding against her own. “Oh, Tifa.”

There is suddenly a blaze. It ignites against the pressure in her chest. Her name on his lips is heavy and snatched away into the air. 

She kisses him before saying, “Make love to me.” 

His hands stop roaming, and she opens her eyes to catch his stare before kissing him again, amending quickly, “Only if you want to.”

His hesitation lasts for a brief second before he turns them over, hovering above her. 

“I want to,” he says.

She wraps her thighs around his waist in a welcome. She wants to smile, but her desire is burying her too deeply, and she can only stare at him. Her fingers drift into his hair, wrapping behind his skull. He taps his forehead against hers, catching her gaze before closing his eyes. His nose bumps hers, and he enters her gently. She hisses at the sensation, wrapping around him tighter. 

“Gaia, Cloud,” she whispers. He pushes further, sliding in and out at a tragically slow pace. She follows his motion, breathing out as he fills her and clenching when he’s so close, _so close._

“ _Tifa,”_ he whispers back, and it is so sharp and desperate against her lips. There is that _something_ behind her name as he says it. Her fingers tangle deeper into his hair. 

“Just like that,” she hears herself say. She is delirious with the sensation—the blaze and the weight and _her name._ “Oh, Cloud, just like that.”

He listens to her, continuing on with the bristling, resonant pace, too slow and not slow enough. In and out and in and out, and Tifa’s breath is short and quick. Cloud moves to cut her neck with his teeth, sucking on the column of her throat. 

She moans against him, her legs falling off his waist and to her sides, opening up. He reaches down to her hips and grabs her leg, bringing one up to rest on his shoulder. They continue the pace, and Tifa’s stomach twists at the unexpected change. Different skin touches and glides, and she keens, pressing her head further into the comforter. 

“Okay?” he asks. 

“Yes,” she moans, her voice a whistle. “Yes.”

She grasps his neck and shoulders. The front of him pushes her deeper into the cavern of the mattress with each thrust. He’s filling her up like the feeling in her throat, humming across her limbs. As slow and controlled and constant as they move together, Tifa feels it all. It is a bright burn between her legs. It darts into her spine like sparks from frayed wires. It is a shimmer and a hunger, insatiable and all-encompassing and perfect. _And if I can die like this,_ she thinks, _what a way to go._

“Don’t stop,” she pleads. 

“I’m not,” he answers, and the pace becomes faster, just a little, just enough. It builds and builds until each hit from him is a swallow of bliss. Tifa squeezes him everywhere she can find—using her hands, her legs, her mouth—until she closes her eyes and snaps, her body crumbling from the pleasure. Unable to take it any longer, she squirms and pushes into him, and he holds onto her, finding his own release. He is warm and whole and alive, all wrapped up with her arms and legs, her face in his neck and his name in her mouth. 

They are damp and sticky with sweat. Tifa’s hair has loosened from its bun, its tendrils pressed into her cheek and temples. Cloud’s eyes are roughly dilated, and he’s catching his breath. His chest pushes against hers, but he holds himself above her in an attempt not to crush her with his weight. Tifa pulls him down, uncaring, and he eventually eases on top. She hums when he relaxes against her, and he smiles a little. 

“Tifa…I’m too heavy.”

“Only a minute or two,” she breathes, tipping up to kiss him. He kisses her back, curling his arms underneath her. “This is nice.”

“Yeah,” he says. “It is.”

In a moment, Cloud rolls them so they are on their sides, still tangled together, and Tifa mildly protests.

“But Cloud—“

He kisses her to stop her from talking. She pushes her palms against his chest gently, breaking them apart. 

“I like your weight.”

“I’d rather you continue breathing.”

She laughs lightly. “Fine, Strife.”

He stares at her smile, and they bask in each other’s glow in the moments after. He leans forward to kiss her again. It is a tender, wet press of their lips, and Tifa feels it like that shadow across her room, dark gray and warm and secret. Their motions feel like a whisper, only heard by the ones who know to listen. 

“Let’s stay here,” he says.

“My apartment?” she asks.

“Your bed.”

She laughs into his mouth. 

It’s a strange thing, she thinks, as they blend together, skin on skin, weaving and pulling. It is sweaty and sticky and messy. It’s almost a wonder why it’s so glorious with its pressure and release, the energy two people can make with one another. Even if they don’t love each other. 

Even if they do.

* * *

Cloud stays the night. He only leaves when she does the next morning, after she tells him she has an imperative brunch date that is exclusively girls only. He quirks his face at her in amusement.

“You gonna talk about me?” he asks.

“What else would I talk about?” she answers, kissing his cheek. He blushes at that, shaking his head. 

“Uh, do you talk about…” he trails, running a hand through his hair. “Sex?”

She grins. “There aren’t any other topics that are as fun or exciting to talk about, Cloud.”

The blush remains on his face. “Right...”

“Don’t worry,” she says. “They only know everything.”

At his sudden glare, she laughs, pushing him out of the door and locking it behind them.

“Maybe you’ll meet them, someday,” she teases. “Then they can ask you all their questions.”

“I don’t think I’ll be ready for that,” he grouses. 

“You mean, Cloud Strife--CEO of SOLDIER CORP, monster-hunter and dragon-slayer extraordinaire--can ride a motorcycle without a helmet, but can’t handle a few personal questions from three girls?”

“Definitely not.”

As he opens his car door, she kisses him and smiles. 

“You sure you don’t want me to drive you?” he asks.

“I’m sure,” she says. “I like walking.”

“I know.” He sits and glances up at her. “See you soon?”

“Of course,” she says. He closes his door and drives out of the parking lot, and Tifa sighs, finding the sidewalk and smiling as she turns onto the block toward Seventh Heaven. 

* * *

“Spill it, Kisaragi.”

It’s the first thing Jessie says when she arrives. Aerith points at Tifa. 

“You too, Lockhart.”

Tifa grins. Yuffie crosses her arms and looks at Tifa. 

“Alright. Five gil. I’m open to your guess, Teef.”

Tifa clears her throat, unable to stop grinning. 

“Drumroll, please,” she says, and Jessie answers immediately, tapping her fingers against the table. “My answer is…Vincent Valentine.”

Jessie stops her drumming. Aerith coughs on her drink. 

“Vincent?” Aerith nearly shrieks. She wildly stares at Yuffie, who is maintaining the most apathetic, stoic face Tifa’s ever seen her hold. “As in, Vincent, I-have-no-soul-except-when-I-reap-yours, Vincent? That Vincent?”

“The one and only,” Tifa answers.

Jessie begins to laugh. “Wait…isn’t he, like, forty years old?”

Yuffie harrumphs. “Ugh, of course I owe you five gil,” she mutters, opening up her purse and throwing the bill onto the table. “And no, he isn’t _forty_. He’s thirty-eight.”

“Because being twelve years older is so much better than fourteen,” Jessie says, still laughing. “Wait, how did you know his exact age, anyway?”

Aerith gasps. “Have you two been talking? Did you swap numbers?” She clasps her hands around her face. 

Yuffie rolls her eyes. “And you guys know I literally creep on everybody online.”

“Yuffie _does_ perform pretty good background checks on her own,” Tifa says, nodding knowingly. “Remember that one time she found a small town newspaper clipping of Zack when he was younger, because his parents thought he ran away?”

Aerith snickers. “Wow, I forgot all about that.”

Yuffie grins. “What can I say? I’m good at what I do.”

Jessie has taken out her phone, squinting at it and blinking. “Um, holy fuck? He’s _hot?_ ”

She turns the phone over to the girls so everyone can look. Vincent’s face is magnified on the screen. His eyes are nearly the color of a seeping wound; a dark, deep red. His hair is jet black and a stark contrast against his olive skin. His expression is bored, as if everyone around him is inferior with nothing interesting to say. 

Tifa tilts her head. “You know, I’ve never thought about it before, but now that you say that…”

Aerith gasps, plucking the phone from Jessie’s grasp. “Does SOLDIER only employ good-looking people? Because I’m beginning to think so.”

“At first, I was thinking, could I be attracted to someone with my same exact hairstyle?” Yuffie says, waving a hand. “But you know what? I think I could.”

“Pfft, with a face like that? He could have hair as long as Tifa and make it hot,” Jessie says.

Tifa takes the phone from Aerith once she’s done ogling, and Tifa frowns in thought. Vincent’s bangs hang across his forehead, deliberately coiffed and straightened. No hair is out of place. He wears a dark, charcoal suit and matching tie, with a pressed, white shirt underneath. Typical, straight edged Vincent Valentine, as different from Yuffie’s chaos as one could ever be.

“Well, age is just a number,” Tifa says, eying Yuffie and her strangely apathetic reactions. “And he can’t be any worse than Reno.”

At that, Yuffie blanches. “Okay, one,” she starts, holding up a finger. “No one can be worse than Reno, and two…” she groans. “How dare you bring him up at this brunch, Tifa. I expected more from you.”

Tifa rolls her eyes, laughing. Aerith shakes her head. “She has a point, Yuffie.”

“We all know Reno sucked ass, but he did make you _feel_ a lot of things,” Jessie says. “And that’s the only reason I liked him.”

“Me, too,” Tifa says. “But I do think you need someone more mature and grounded, Yuffie. _Especially_ after Reno.”

Yuffie shrugs. “I’m not _looking_ for anything. I just want to have some fun.”

“Hm…” Aerith says, leaning forward into Yuffie’s space. “Am I hearing you say this is your _rebound,_ Yuffie?”

Yuffie’s face pinches. “Rebound? _Rebound?_ Please. Reno isn’t good enough for me to have to _rebound,_ ” she answers, shaking her head. “Besides, there’s more to the story where Vincent’s concerned. It makes him the perfect victim.”

All the girls glance around at each other, raising their brows. Jessie grins devilishly. Tifa smiles. Aerith claps her hands. 

“Please, tell us,” Tifa says. 

“I’m ready,” Aerith answers.

“I knew there was something else,” Jessie cackles.

Yuffie clears her throat, refilling her glass with mimosa. “Settle in, ladies. Wet your pretty beaks, because Vincent Valentine is a sucker.”

Tifa laughs at that, doing as she’s told. Aerith places her chin in her hand, and Jessie slurps up her bloody mary. 

“So,” Yuffie starts. “Vincent has been dating Lucrecia Crescent on and off for the span of five years.”

Jessie chokes. “ _Five?_ ” Then she immediately pulls out her phone. “I’m looking her up.”

Tifa furrows her brows. “Why is that name so familiar?”

“Because…” Yuffie trails dramatically. “She works for Shinra Inc.”

“Ooooooh,” Aerith keens. “This is already good.”

“God dammit,” Jessie exclaims suddenly, turning her phone over. “She’s also hot. What universe have we fallen into with all these beautiful people?”

Aerith stares at her, her mouth falling open. “No wonder they can’t break up with each other.”

Lucrecia Crescent is certainly a sight to behold. Thick, luscious brown flowing hair falling across her shoulders. She wears dark-rimmed glasses, and there’s a shine to her lips that hints at either plain chapstick or clear gloss. Her mouth is turned up in a small smile, and there is something cunning behind it. 

“Apparently, she is crazy smart. She has her PhD. She works in the R and D department at Shinra, and _get this,_ ” Yuffie says, her emphasis loud. “Vincent’s dad was her professor in school. She defended her thesis in front of him. Nuts, right?”

Tifa shakes her head. “Wow. That _is_ a history.”

“This is a soap opera,” Aerith sighs. “Definitely up your alley, Yuff.”

Jessie rubs her hands together. “Okay, so to make this even better… Do you know if she banged his dad to get the PhD? Because then it would be a _true_ soap.”

Tifa laughs loudly. Aerith snorts. Yuffie grins, but she shakes her head, placing her hand on her forehead. 

“Alas, I could find no such dirt about her seducing both. Just Vincent.”

“Missed opportunity,” Jessie says. “But, most importantly…how do we know if they’re _off_ right now?”

Yuffie simply shrugs. “We don’t, but since this merger is happening, and he seems like a very by the book kind of guy…”

Tifa nods emphatically. “By the book is an understatement.”

Yuffie grins, showing off every tooth. “Good. That means they _have_ to be off.”

Aerith hums, eyes narrowing in thought. “Tifa, didn’t you say there’s going to be a merger ceremony? Everyone gets to dress up all fancy, drink champagne, and mingle?”

Tifa perks up, suddenly connecting everything together. “I did. The week after next.”

Jessie places both of her palms on the table. “Yuffie, this better be part of your plan.”

“How could you think any less of me, Jessie?” Yuffie asks, flicking her bangs out of her eyes. “I’m one-hundred percent planning on being at that ceremony. I will look super hot, Vincent can have a date to make Lucrecia jealous, and as for me…”

At Yuffie’s pointed look at the girls, Tifa slowly shakes her head. “Reno will be there, making eyes at you and wishing he wasn’t such an asshat.”

Yuffie’s expression is as wicked as Tifa’s ever seen. “Bingo.”

Jessie grabs Yuffie’s arm and shakes it. “Brava, woman. I love you.”

“Now, all that’s left is to convince Vincent that he needs me. I’m sure I can…” Yuffie pauses, clearing her throat and deepening the octave of her voice, “validate the necessity of my wares by highlighting how essential they are for the weaponry market space.” Her voice goes back to normal. “Or some shit like that. Then I’ll only agree to selling with him _if_ he takes me as a date.”

Aerith giggles profusely. Tifa grins and pats her head. Yuffie preens.

“You are marvelous, Yuffie,” Tifa laughs. “What would we do without you?”

“Flounder and fail, that’s what,” Jessie guffaws. 

“And we can get ready for the ceremony together,” Tifa says. “That’s probably the most important thing about this.”

“Oh, that’s the only thing that matters,” Yuffie answers, nodding sagely.

“You also better get some sex out of this deal, because it’s too perfect not to be rewarded,” Aerith winks. 

Jessie points. “That’s facts.”

“And you better tell us when you meet up with Vincent, Yuffie,” Tifa says. “We’ll hound you until you do.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Yuffie says, waving her off. “I’ve just got to text him the time and place.”

Jessie almost spits out her drink. “So you _did_ swap numbers! How long did you two _talk?_ ”

Yuffie shrugs innocently. “I dunno, maybe only an hour or so.”

“An hour?” Tifa asks, flabbergasted. “I didn’t even know Vincent could talk for longer than five _minutes_.”

“I guess when you’re as cute as I am…” Yuffie says, laughing. 

“Yuffie, already giving life to the lifeless Vincent Valentine?” Aerith nearly exclaims. “I…can’t…even! I am now convinced he was hot and bothered by your shruiken talk, Yuffie.”

Yuffie smirks. “Maybe.”

“You little fiend,” Jessie says, shaking her head and saluting her with her drink. 

Tifa imagines the ever stoic, unimpressed, annoyed-with-every-lifeform Vincent, looking at Yuffie with the slightest flicker of interest. 

She’s hooked him, Tifa thinks, smiling into her drink. Who would have thought?

They continue on for another hour—Jessie talking about her bedroom conquests with Biggs, Aerith adamantly refusing their guesses of where Zack is hiding the engagement ring, and Tifa blushing through her recounts of her and Cloud’s sex acts throughout the week. 

By the time Tifa gets home, it’s almost 3:00 pm. Dazed and slightly day drunk, she tipsily falls onto her bed. She smells Cloud on her sheets—the smell of adventure and summer heat and a road to unknown places—and she takes out her phone. Deliriously, she stares at his name and types out, 

_Hey, I think I love you._

She stares at it before laughing, shaking her head and deleting it. Instead, she types out something much less serious. 

**Tifa:** _Hey, so the girls were very jealous about the couch in your bathroom._

**Cloud:** _Were they?_

**Tifa:** _Very, too mcuh_

**Tifa:** _Oops, too much*_

**Cloud:** _I have more respect for interior decorators for that decision._

**Tifa:** _yes, and I told them about how good you are with your mouth_

**Tifa:** _and fingers_

**Tifa:** _what are you doing? I should probably take a shower but I keep thinking about you_

**Tifa:** _and I might end up touching myself because I’m thinking about you_

**Cloud:** _Tifa, are you okay?_

Tifa stares at the text before she bursts out into giggles, knowing she shouldn’t be laughing because this isn’t funny. But she keeps smelling him surrounding her, and she wants him there—and she’s warm from the walk outside, and she’s flushing from the alcohol, and she feels herself tightening up from just thinking about being in the shower. 

**Tifa:** _I’m fine perfectly._

**Tifa:** _I’m tipsy._

**Tifa:** _I want you_

**Cloud:** _I can be there in twenty?_

**Tifa:** _is that a question because you don’t know or because you’r easking me_

**Cloud:** _No, I can be there._

**Tifa:** _Good. I’ll leave my door unlocked_

**Tifa:** _I’ll be in the shower_

**Tifa:** _Wet and waiting_

Tifa begins laughing as soon as she types out the words, dropping her phone on her bed and standing. She’s startled when the phone begins ringing, Cloud’s name emblazoned across the screen. She bites her lip and grabs it, pausing briefly before answering.

“Hi,” she says.

“Don’t leave your door unlocked. That’s dangerous.”

The growl of his voice invades her ears, and she nearly moans at it. 

“It’s only dangerous if I don’t know who’s coming.” At the word _coming,_ she giggles. She stands and goes to her front door, going against his orders and unlocking it. She giggles again, putting a hand on her face. “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry. I guess I’m more tipsy than I thought.” She can hear herself slurring. She sighs. “I’m not usually this bad. Maybe I should drink water.”

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t drink water. It’s okay.”

She blinks before smiling. “Why not? You want me to be drunk when you get here?”

“…I, uh…not that I _want_ you to be drunk, but now that you are…I…”

She smiles wider. “I have more in the fridge. I can make sure I am definitely tipsy before you get here.”

“You don’t have to do that, Tifa.”

“Mm…okay,” she says, walking back to her room and lying on her bed. She stares up at the ceiling. “Have I ever told you that I love your voice?” She presses her face into her comforters, breathing deeply. “It’s so gravely and warm…”

“I…didn’t realize it was.”

“I told the girls that. I told them your voice is rough and when your fingers touch me, it’s like…” she trails, allowing her fingers to pass the band of her shorts. She taps the speaker phone button, gasping slightly as her insides tighten. “Mm, it’s like _my_ fingers, because you know exactly where to touch me to make me…oh.”

“Tifa…are you…”

“To make me forget where I am,” she breathes, beginning to feel herself. She’s wet and waiting, and she laughs a little. It’s husky to her own ears, and she feels free and wild and infinite. It’s such a sexy thing with Cloud present across the span of space between her mouthpiece and his phone. 

“Oh, Cloud,” she moans. “Keep talking to me. Tell me what you’ll do when you get here.”

“Break down your door,” he says, his voice miles and miles gruffer than usual. Tifa smiles and bites her lip, imagining the stare he gives her when she arches her back. “Grab your fingers and put them in my mouth.”

“Your mouth?” She bucks into her hand, hissing and smiling in pleasure. “Like dessert?”

“Always like dessert,” he says. He sighs sharply. “Shit, Tifa.”

“Oh, what else?” she asks. “Will you…mm…will you grab my hips?”

“Yes,” he says. “I’ll…take off your clothes. I’ll spread your legs wide to see how wet you are, knowing you’re wet just for me.”

“Oh, yes, I am…oh, yes.”

“I’ll taste you first—put my mouth on you and suck on you until you say my name.”

“ _Cloud,”_ she gasps. “Like that?”

“Goddamn it. Just like that.”

“…and then what?” she asks, her legs spreading. 

“I’ll slip my fingers inside you. I’ll eat you like you’re my last meal on Gaia.”

Tifa thinks about his tongue, pushing her own fingers into herself. She thinks of Cloud’s teeth, skimming across her skin. She moans. 

“Oh, Shiva,” she breathes. “Okay. You’re eating me. Oh, please, what’s next?”

“Then I’ll stroke you. I’ll curl my fingers inside you—“

Tifa does as he says, keening. “Mm, yes, okay.”

“I’ll grab your breast with my other hand, rub my thumb over your nipple.”

She does it, smiling at the word _nipple,_ and she breathes out a laugh. “Yes. That feels so good.”

“Then you’ll grab my head and push me further into you.”

She whines. “I can’t do that yet.”

“Push your fingers deeper, Tifa.”

She does, and she cries. “Okay. Oh, okay.”

“You’re close,” he mumbles, his words slathered in a deep timbre. “You’re almost there, and you want it so badly.”

She closes her eyes, her head extending back. It’s coming up on her just as his words say, and she _does_ want it. She wants it more than anything else.

“I do,” she whispers. “But I—I—“

“You can’t let yourself. Not yet. Not until I get there.”

She whimpers. “Cloud, oh, I can’t wait. I don’t think I can—“

“You can, Tifa. Hang onto it. Stay right there.”

She pinches her eyes, concentrating on the feel, pushing the release down, down, as far as she can. 

“I’m…trying…oh, fuck.”

“Good girl, Tifa,” he says, and there’s a strange echo. She thinks she hears him say it twice. “Oh, you’re beautiful.”

She does hear it twice. She opens her eyes and gasps, because Cloud is suddenly standing right in front of her, witnessing her fingers deeply embedded in herself, her other hand fondling her breast. 

He’s already unzipped his pants, and he’s so gorgeous as he frees his erection. He grabs her hand and pulls it away, leaning over and doing just what he said he would. He places her fingers in his mouth and sucks on them. Tifa moans and nearly loses it right then, her insides clenching from the display. 

“You’re here,” she says, watching him, astonished, her face electric with her heartbeat. 

“You unlocked the door. What I told you not to do,” he growls, and she leans back at his words as he lets go of her hand, kneeling in front of her. 

“Mm, what’ll you do about it, then?” she says, smiling. “Punish me?”

“Never,” he says. “You waited.”

“Oh, I did,” she cries, and when his tongue hits her clit, she’s bashed with ecstasy. “Oh, this is so much better. “ Her thighs clench around his head when he enters her with his fingers. “Oh, how do you do that?”

“Do what?” he breathes. 

“ _This,_ ” she huffs. “Oh, Cloud, I’m going to—“

“Not yet,” he tells her, still sucking on her clit. She tries not to let it happen. She tries and tries, and the seconds feel like years. 

“Cloud, I’m sorry, I—“ 

He stands, freeing her from his onslaught, and she whimpers before he immediately thrusts inside of her. 

Her back arches and she loses her breath. “Oh, oh, mm.”

“Tifa,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “Do you want to come, now?”

She pinches her eyes shut. “Please. Yes.”

“You don’t have to wait. Let go.”

“But…but you…”

He reaches down to thumb her clit. He grabs her hips and thrusts harder. 

“Don’t hold off,” he tells her. “Let go.”

She cries, and she unravels as she listens to him. She rises off the mattress. It’s as if a bulldozer is breaking her up into a million little pieces. 

_The best bulldozer,_ she thinks, rolling off the high. “The best,” she breathes aloud. 

Cloud’s chest is rising and falling at a thunderous pace, and she realizes he has broken, too. He smiles down at her, still holding her hips. Her legs remain spread out to the sides. 

“You still tipsy?” he asks. 

“It feels like it,” she answers. “But I don’t know if it’s from you or the alcohol.”

He laughs briefly, coming forward and crawling atop her. He kisses her, and she kisses him back. 

“Shit, you’re sexy. Touching yourself while on the phone?”

“Only because I was drunk,” she says. “I’d never have done it otherwise.”

“I don’t mind it,” he says. “You can do that whenever you want.”

She curls her body around him, rocking to the side. 

“Okay. Maybe I will.” Pausing between a kiss, she asks, “How fast did you get here?”

“Too fast,” he says. “It’s a miracle I didn’t get pulled over.”

“Cloud! And you say keeping my door unlocked is dangerous.”

“We both survived somehow, didn’t we?”

She laughs. “Just barely.”

* * *

The next day begins the first of several meetings. Monday entails of meetings for each separate department, going over the change of procedures and projects that will begin implementation after the merger ceremony the following Sunday evening. 

“They expect us to begin work on a Monday after they get us all drunk?” Barret grumbles under his breath. “These motherfuckers are dumber than I thought.”

Tifa laughs lightly. “No one will do anything if we’re all hungover, anyway.”

“Damn straight, we won’t.”

The meeting drags. They go over details and descriptions of project changes, assigning employees and hammering out the basics and intradepartmental leadership. 

In other words, very, very boring information.

During an intermission, Tifa texts Cloud.

**Tifa:** _Can you save me from this meeting?_

It takes him two minutes to respond.

**Cloud:** _If you can save me from mine._

She quells a smile. 

**Tifa:** _I would if I could._

Five minutes pass, and they’re about to start up again before Cloud texts back.

**Cloud:** _I could meet you in a bathroom._

**Cloud:** _Or a supply closet. Your pick._

Tifa almost laughs. 

**Tifa:** _Always sex on the brain with you, isn’t it, Strife?_

**Cloud:** _When thinking about you? Who wouldn’t?_

Tifa glances up and notices that everyone is beginning to reconvene. She sighs.

**Tifa:** _Missed our window. We’re going to start again. Next intermission in an hour?_

**Cloud:** _Yes. Meet me in the side hallway on your floor. There’s a closet no one uses._

Tifa blushes at the absurdity, quirking her brow at the information. 

**Tifa:** _How do you know it exists?_

**Cloud:** _After the elevator, I had to be ready for alternatives._

At that, Tifa does laugh. She covers it with a cough as she takes her seat. 

**Tifa:** _I’m impressed. You think we can make it under three mins?_

**Cloud:** _Of course we can. Just think about what I’ll do to you during this next hour._

**Tifa:** _You’re terrible. You better be thinking about it, too._

**Cloud:** _I’ve been thinking about it all day. After yesterday, I haven’t stopped thinking about it._

Tifa feels an internal heat permeates her chest. 

**Tifa:** _I won’t be able to make it through this meeting._

**Cloud:** _You can hide it, though. Boners are pretty obvious._

Tifa coughs again, clearing her throat when Barret looks at her. 

“You alright, Teef?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just have an itch in my throat, that’s all,” she says, taking a drink from her water bottle. 

**Tifa:** _Cloud, stop making me laugh! Barret is looking at me funny. He’s getting suspicious._

**Cloud:** _At least he won’t think you’re getting turned on by a powerpoint._

Tifa has to nearly sever her tongue with her teeth to keep from laughing. 

**Cloud:** _I have to keep shifting._

**Tifa:** _Think of something else._

**Cloud:** _No._

**Tifa:** _Then stop complaining about your boner._

**Cloud:** _No, because it’s your fault._

**Tifa:** _Think of Rufus naked._

**Cloud:** _I can’t believe you’d do that to me._

**Tifa:** _Did it help?_

**Cloud:** _Terribly._

**Tifa:** _Oh, good. I was afraid it’d make you worse._

**Tifa:** _Since he makes you so riled up._

**Cloud:** _Haha very funny._

Ten minutes later, Cloud sends another text.

**Cloud:** _I tried. I really did. But it’s back._

Tifa curls her lips under her teeth. She side glances to Barret, who seems to be having trouble staying awake. 

**Tifa:** _Think about Barret shouting and punching you really hard on your boner._

**Cloud:** _Great. Thanks._

**Tifa:** _Anytime._

When the meeting finally comes to a break, Tifa stands up immediately. Barret wakes with an abrupt snort, running a hand over his face. 

“I swear to all that is holy, I’m going to kick Reeve’s ass for holding such a goddamn useless meeting,” he grumbles. 

“I agree with you,” Tifa says, stretching. “I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

She tries to keep from sprinting, turning right to the side hallway and glancing over her shoulder. It’s abundantly clear and free of any stragglers. _How had Cloud known?_ She wonders again. Did he stake out this area in his free time? And when would that free time have been?

She sees a few different, skinnier doors. One says Authorized Personnel Only, and Tifa takes a chance and goes to open it. She squeaks in surprise when the door opens on its own. 

“Good, you made it,” Cloud says, grabbing her arm and pulling her inside. “I just got here.”

She can barely make out a faint glow of blue from his eyes, only lit from the stream of light passing under the door. His body is outlined in shadow. “I have a lot of questions I’ll ask later,” she says, going to hike up her skirt. 

“And I’ll answer all of them. Later,” he says back, and she hears his pants unzip. He expels a tight breath. “As many times as I thought about Barret smashing my balls…”

Tifa laughs quietly, feeling for him with her hands. “I’ve been ready since your first text.”

He brings her closer, finding the lines he’s memorized. 

“Try not to make noise,” he says. “Not that I think it matters.”

He thrusts into her, and she clamps her teeth shut. She digs her nails into his neck. 

“Three minutes?” she whispers, voice high. 

“Yeah,” he grunts. “Three minutes.”

Much to Tifa’s unending amazement, she gets back to the room in two and a half.

The meeting suddenly isn’t so bad. 

* * *

On Tuesday, the meeting is company wide. Cloud is present and in the seat he normally assumes, his words from before seemingly accurate. _No one sits by me._

The seat to his left is vacant. She catches his eye as she enters the room, holding her purse at her side and her tablet to her chest. She glances away from him, hiding her smile. As she makes her way to the seat, she’s cut off by Elena.

“Hey, Tifa! It’s good to see you,” she says, giving her a warm smile. “Would you like to sit by me?”

Of all the scenarios Tifa had thought about coming into this meeting, including playing footsie with Cloud under the table, subtly brushing her hand against his thigh, attempting to pay attention and failing spectacularly, _not_ sitting by him never entered her mind. 

“Oh, I—“ she says, her eyes flicking to Cloud for a brief moment before looking at Elena. “Sure... I was going to sit near the front.”

“Perfect. There are a couple over there we can take.”

The ones she mentions are directly across from Cloud. As Tifa takes a seat, she catches Cloud’s stare and smiles a little, trying to give him a subtle shake of her head. She glances over at Elena, who is taking her seat. She beams at Tifa.

“So, how’ve you been? Excited about next week?”

“Busy, but I’ve been very well,” Tifa answers. “I am excited. The ceremony should be a fun time, and I’m looking forward to what the merger brings.”

“Me, too,” Elena says. “I’m curious about Rufus Shinra. I’ve never met him, but he’s supposed to speak at our meeting, today.”

Tifa nods, well aware of Rufus’ future appearance. Her eyes dart up to Cloud again, but he’s looking elsewhere. 

“I’m interested in seeing how he’ll lead. It’ll be…different, that’s for sure,” Tifa says. 

Elena lowers her voice, and Tifa doesn’t miss the way Elena’s eyes flicker up to Cloud. “I wonder if Mr. Strife is going to miss being the CEO. He was certainly good at it.”

“Yeah…” Tifa trails. “He is. Was. I wonder, too.” Biting her lip, Tifa asks, “Have you heard any rumors about what he’ll do?”

Elena frowns, shaking her head. “No, actually. I haven’t heard anything. Not even Scarlet has talked about it, and that’s really weird.”

Tifa roves her eyes around the room at the mention of Scarlet, finding her blood red drop of a dress in the middle of the room. She’s sitting beside one of the underlings that works in the IT department, and he’s blushing so hard, Tifa can almost hear his heart racing from where she sits. 

“That _is_ weird...” Tifa says.

“Sorry she’s given you so much trouble,” Elena says, following her stare. “She’s such a bitch.”

“It’s okay,” Tifa says, smiling. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“She’s weathered the merger, somehow,” Elena sighs. “Sharks like her always do.”

Tifa hums. “You think she’ll be Rufus’ secretary? Or something else?”

“Honestly? I bet she’s already met him out of office to secure her place.” Elena shakes her head. “Or slipped him a drink, drugged him, and did all her voodoo.” She makes a face. “Sorry, that’s mean.”

Tifa laughs. “Hardly mean when it comes to Scarlet.”

The meeting starts not a minute later, and Tifa situates herself by opening up her notes in her tablet. Her phone buzzes in her pocket, and she slips it out, reading it on the opposite side of where Elena sits so she can’t see.

**Cloud:** _I should have remembered how likable you were. I forgot other people would want to sit by you, too._

Tifa bites her lip, smiling briefly and keeping herself from looking up.

**Tifa:** _I didn’t even think about that at all. But at least I’m still close to you._

**Cloud:** _Yeah. I’ll try not to stare._

**Tifa:** _You can stare._

**Cloud:** _I’d make it too obvious. Everyone would know._

**Tifa:** _Maybe it’s a good thing we aren’t sitting by each other, then. I wouldn’t be able to stop touching you underneath the desk._

**Cloud:** _Then I’d get another boner and we’d really be in trouble._

Tifa chuckles, shaking her head and putting her phone back into her pocket as Vincent takes his place at the front of the room. She catches Cloud’s eye for a moment, seeing him sending her a small smile. 

_He’s funny,_ she thinks, turning her head toward the presentation. It’s something she’s known before but never acknowledged until the past few days. He makes her laugh so easily. 

By the time intermission comes around, there is a hushed shift in the atmosphere. Tifa glances up to Cloud, who doesn’t seem as affected as everyone else. She glances behind her to see what’s going on, and Elena whispers, “Look, Rufus and his cohorts are here.”

Tifa sees Rufus immediately at the entrance of the room, surrounded by three other men. One has long black hair, an angular face, and slanted eyes. Another is bald with a goatee and sunglasses. _Inside the office building?_ Tifa questions, frowning and amused. The last one is red haired, forgoing a tie with the top three or four buttons unbuttoned on his shirt, seeming for all the world uncaring about his appearance, and yet it is too thoughtfully rumpled to be considered genuine. 

_Reno,_ Tifa thinks. Of course, he’s now within Rufus Shinra’s close circle. He’s made a promotion since she last knew of him through Yuffie. Tifa glances over to Vincent, who is sitting stiffly in his chair, distanced from the other employees. He seems even more disinterested than Cloud, which is… typical. 

Rufus himself looks exactly like his pictures. He is swathed in white—white suit jacket, white waistcoat, white shoes, white belt—the only thing not white is his tie, which is a deep onyx. It glares like a pupil underneath the fluorescent lights overhead. 

His blonde hair is lighter than Cloud’s, slicked on the slides with gel. It should make his entire presence slimy, but something about his face forbids it. His lips are pouty, his cheekbones high, and his eyes a cool, icy blue. They remind her of icebergs up near the Northern Continent, and as his eyes rove over the employees in the room, they give her goosebumps when they land on her. His eyes linger for a second too long before he smirks, looking away and catching Cloud’s stare. Tifa glances over to Cloud, who’s jaw muscle bulges momentarily and his eyes narrow in a glare. When Tifa looks back to Rufus, his smirk has widened. He tilts his head toward the long-haired man at his side, who nods and gestures to Reno and the bald man, and they take the first empty seats they can find around the table. Rufus stands at the front of the room and motions for Cloud. His chest rises in a sigh and he stands, walking up to speak with Rufus. 

“Who is _that?”_ Elena whispers, her eyes finding the long-haired man. They sit caddy-corner from them, across the table. Tifa follows her gaze. 

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen him before,” Tifa says. “Why?”

Elena blushes. “No reason. He’s just…”

Tifa watches her, a small smile growing on her face. “Elena? Do you think he’s cute?”

“N-no. Well…I guess a little. He’s very…” Elena trails. When the man glances up, he catches her eye. She looks away quickly. “Fine. I think he’s cute in that severe, no-nonsense kind of way.”

Tifa grins. “Isn’t anything wrong with that. Just tell HR. I’m sure they’ll let you have some kind of pass.”

Elena looks over her. “There’s no way they would. Would they? I highly doubt Shinra would allow it…” 

At Tifa’s continued smile, Elena narrows her eyes in thought. “Have you tried with Mr. Strife?”

At the question and her tone, Tifa blushes almost instantaneously. “W-what do you mean?”

“Tried? You know, asked him about HR and relationships?” She leans forward, smiling knowingly. “You’re dating someone, aren’t you? I saw you texting throughout the meeting. Does he work in the company?”

As much as Tifa likes Elena, she is certainly nosy and straightforward. _Like my girlfriends,_ Tifa thinks, amused at the thought. “I—um—no. Well…kind of. It’s…a long story,” she finishes lamely. Shaking her head, she tries to will the blush away. “I haven’t notified HR, but the merger is happening soon, anyway. I didn’t think it mattered.”

Elena’s eyes widen and sparkle. “Wow, Teef, I’m impressed. I didn’t think you’d go against company policy.”

Tifa expels a breath, her eyes unconsciously finding Cloud’s figure. He’s still standing beside Rufus, a hand in his pocket, listening to something Rufus is explaining. His face is in his CEO mask, his back ramrod straight, his eyes clear and sharp like knives. 

“I didn’t think I would, either,” Tifa mutters. Then she shrugs, giving Elena a small smile. “But life is short. There are some risks worth taking.”

Elena’s eyes slowly make their way back to the man across from them. He’s talking to his colleagues, his mouth turning down into a frown at something Reno says. 

“Can’t argue with that,” Elena says before her smile turns sly. “So? Who is it? I promise I won’t tell.”

“Elena…” Tifa tries. “You know I can’t say.”

She shakes her head. “Fine, fine, I get it.” Her eyes sparkle again. “He’s in this meeting, isn’t he?” She glances around. “What a mystery. This is kinda fun. I’ll be on the lookout for the male who can’t keep his eyes off you.”

Tifa’s blush deepens. “Elena! Don’t!”

She begins laughing. “I can’t help myself. You know I love office gossip way too much.”

Tifa is saved by further embarrassment when Rufus clears his throat, beginning the second half of the meeting. 

“Good afternoon, everyone,” Rufus begins, clasping his hands behind his back. One blonde bang spills across his forehead, and Tifa thinks it looks like a purposeful thing. How long did it take him to perfect it? 

“Before the merger next week, I wanted to take it upon myself to greet all of my employees and to answer any and all questions you may still have. It is my hope that this transition will be a smooth endeavor, that we may dispel fears and anxieties going forward, and that anticipation and excitement for the future will be at the forefront. I have a lot of expectations, and I have a lot of dreams. I believe this progression is the next step in obtaining what we all want—this company becoming larger in scope, helping the world, and equipping the people of Gaia with what they cherish the most: strength for their loved ones, hope for the future, and the potential to keep dreaming.” 

Rufus smiles, and Tifa is stricken by his words. He says them like a salesman—they are too good to be genuine, but the gleam of his teeth make you want to believe otherwise. They hold a promise in them—richer and deeper than Tifa ever held for SOLDIER as a company, and her heart spikes for a moment, wondering what else there could be. She thinks about Cloud’s words of his nondisclosure agreement. _Nothing bad. I wouldn’t have allowed the merger had that been the case._

Rufus’ eyes find Cloud’s. “I am lucky to have found another individual who shares my views—though I’ll admit, we’ve had our differences.” He briefly laughs and so do a few other employees. 

Tifa hears Reno mutter loudly, “Ain’t that the truth, yo.”

“But I believe Mr. Strife and I want the same things for this company and, if I can be so bold to say, this _world_. Would you agree, Mr. Strife?”

Cloud hesitates for the briefest of moments. His throat bobs in a quiet swallow, and he nods, his eyes roaming over the employees in the boardroom. “I do.”

He doesn’t catch Tifa’s eye, and a coil of anxiety grips her stomach. She stares at him long enough that she’s certain he’ll feel her gaze burning a hole into his forehead, but he resolutely stares at the tabletop in front of him. She sighs, pulling out her phone. 

“Now, I’m happy to open the floor to answer any questions you may have. Yes? You, in the back?”

**Tifa:** _Hey. You okay?_

It takes Cloud a moment before he glances at his phone, only opening it after the first question is answered. He frowns down at the screen. 

**Cloud:** _Fine. Just thinking, that’s all._

Tifa bites her lip, her fingers hovering over the keys. 

**Tifa:** _Are you regretting the merger?_

His reply is much quicker. 

**Cloud:** _No. I’m more certain than ever._

Tifa scrutinizes his words, quickly glancing up at him before looking away. She believes him. There’s just something that doesn’t let her go. It’s a finger on her spine, like a zipper straining against her skin. 

She puts her phone back into her pocket and is distracted throughout the rest of the meeting, only paying half-attention to the questions and answers. Only one sticks out to her. 

It’s from Barret. 

“I know you been working more and more with materia, but hardly any one of us knows exactly what’s goin’ on. Can you expand on that?” 

Tifa almost smiles. It’s the cleanest and most refined she’s ever heard Barret speak. She mentally fills in where the expletives would go. 

Rufus clears his throat. “I’m glad you mentioned that, Mister…”

“Wallace. Barret Wallace,” he answers gruffly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Mr. Wallace. There is a substantial amount going on behind the scenes with materia and the like. It is still all experimental, but I assure you that I will disclose to the company and its employees about everything the night of the merger ceremony. I apologize for the political answer,” Rufus says, smirking. “But the repercussions would be too high if I told everyone before the initial merger date.”

Tifa’s phone buzzes in her pocket. She takes it out and smiles at Cloud’s name decorating the text. 

**Cloud:** _What he isn’t saying is that he loves being dramatic._

Tifa chuckles under her breath. 

**Tifa:** _So if he disclosed the information today, the repercussions wouldn’t be as high as he says?_

**Cloud:** _Well…maybe still high. But he’s all about the presentation._

**Tifa:** _I’m intrigued._

_And frightened,_ she thinks, but she wills it back down. She trusts Cloud. 

She catches his eye across the table. He gives her a small smile. She smiles back. 

Luckily for them, Elena is too preoccupied with glancing at the long-haired man to notice. 

Once the meeting ends, Cloud steps up to Rufus as everyone disperses. Tifa is too curious to head back to her office, and she bids farewell to Elena while she stalls on her tablet, feigning typing out a note. She can’t make out what they say amidst the shuffling of bodies and chairs as employees leave or stay to chat with one another.

Tifa allows herself to glance up, attempting to read Cloud’s lips before his eyes catch onto her. Rufus follows his gaze and smirks at Tifa before gesturing for her to join them. 

Her heart immediately stampedes. She stands up from her chair, careful not to trip over her feet. She then readjusts the strap of her purse and closes the distance between them. 

“Mr. Shinra,” she says, holding out her hand. He smirks again, taking it. His grip is as smooth as his voice and as powerful as his title. He squeezes her palm once before letting go, and Tifa pushes the tablet harder into her chest. Her eyes dart to Cloud for a moment, but he is at his most stoic. The stone cold professionalism shades the planes of his face. There is nothing in his eyes that denote he’s taken her to his condo. It helps ease Tifa’s anxiety. 

“Ms. Lockhart,” Rufus greets, his eyes combing over her. He allows his gaze to linger, and Tifa feels just uncomfortable enough to frown. “A pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard great things.”

Tifa blushes at the compliment, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Oh. Thank you. It’s good to finally meet you, as well. I’m looking forward to the merger ceremony.”

Rufus smiles at that, flicking his eyes to Cloud. “I get it, now. If you look like this in business professional clothing, I’m looking forward to seeing you in formal dinner attire. I’m sure Mr. Strife would agree.”

Tifa blinks at Rufus and his blatantly flirtatious—albeit scandalous—choice of words. Her cheeks redden, and she has to force herself from taking a step backward.

“I…um…” she flounders. She glances to Cloud, who is glaring daggers at Rufus. Rufus is smiling before he chuckles, low and brazen. 

“Forgive me,” he continues, shaking his head and placing a hand in his pocket. “I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I’ve seen the projects you managed, and I’m a fan of your graphic design. It isn’t easy to please me. Is it, Strife?”

Cloud’s jaw buckles under the pressure of his teeth. He narrows his eyes and shifts his weight. “You’re a bit childish with requirements, but other than that you’re hardly demanding.”

Rufus chuckles, and Cloud’s cheekbones tint with light pink. Tifa’s never seen Cloud this way—so easily lit from the inside. She stares at the cords in his neck, strung like tight guitar strings. He’s shorter than Rufus, but what he lacks in height is dwarfed by the deadly ardor in his eyes. 

“Childish, arrogant, playing with his daddy’s empire…” Rufus trails, flicking his fingers up with each listing. “Yes, yes, it’s tired and tragic and no one seems to care about getting to know me any better.” He shakes his head and looks at Tifa again, his smile cavalier and so reckless that Tifa wobbles on her heels. 

“Who knows? Maybe you’ll be the one to get to know me better, Ms. Lockhart. I wouldn’t mind it.”

Cloud bristles. Tifa can nearly feel the wave of his anger hit her like a billow of steam. 

“I think Ms. Lockhart respects herself too much to give an ounce of care for your sorry ass, Shinra.”

Tifa nearly chokes at how Cloud doesn’t even attempt to hide his hostility. Rufus, for his part, merely laughs. 

“And your anger is petulant and unbecoming, Strife. I’m sure Ms. Lockhart is appalled,” he says, glancing at her. “Well? Are you?”

Tifa gapes for a second before shaking her head, coming back to herself. She grabs the strap of her purse to steady herself under the stares of both Rufus Shinra and Cloud. Her eyes linger on Cloud’s for a moment, and she sees his features soften. 

“I think…both of you need a lesson in maturity.” In a flash of boldness, she winks at them. Cloud smirks a little, glancing away. Rufus dips his head in a small bow. 

“Ah, very wise, Ms. Lockhart. I’ll take your words into consideration.” At that, Rufus reaches out to take her hand. Startled, Tifa lets him, watching as his lips graze her knuckles. He then smiles up at her and says, “I’ll see you at the ceremony.”

With that, he turns and gestures to the bald man, Reno, and the long-haired, straight-edged suit who Elena had been eyeballing so seriously before. They all congregate around Rufus like a posse and leave as swiftly as they had arrived. 

Tifa can still feel Rufus’ lips linger on her hand, and she shakes it out, flexing her fingers to dispel the sensation. When she looks up at Cloud, she’s surprised to find the anger has surfaced again, stewing behind his eyes. 

He glances around the room, rubbing his hand along his jaw. Under his breath, he mutters, “He’s such a dick.”

Tifa tilts her head at him, amused. “A very smooth talking dick.”

His eyes narrow further, his gaze falling to her palm. “I can’t believe he kissed your hand. Well, no,” he pauses. “I can believe he did that.”

Tifa glances behind her, seeing no one she knows well. Barret and Reeve are gone. Vincent is nowhere to be seen. Other members from her department have trickled out of the room. 

She turns back to Cloud. “Is that why you’re so angry? Because he kissed my hand?”

“It’s… _petulant_ and _unbecoming,”_ Cloud says, his ears flushing and rolling his eyes. “But yeah. That’s why I’m angry. I’m angry because he was flirting with you right in front of me, because he knows he can.”

Tifa begins grinning before she blinks. “Wait…he said… _I get it, now._ What did that mean?” Her eyes widen. “Does he…know?”

Cloud shifts his weight, and she can tell he’s uncomfortable. His stoicism is disintegrating, evolving into the boyish charm underneath. 

“Uh…do you…do you trust me?” he asks her, instead, and Tifa swallows. His inquiry mirrors what she had concluded minutes before.

“Yes,” she says. 

He nods slowly, the vestiges of a smile beginning to form on his face. “Good. I…had to discuss some things with Shinra. He doesn’t know the extent of what we’ve done. I’m sure he’s imagined what we…actually do,” he says, scowling. He shakes his head. “He only knows my end. I’ve told him nothing about…you.”

Tifa furrows her brows, tightening her hands around her tablet. “He only knows your end? What do you mean, Cloud?”

He reddens, shifting again. “He knows my interest in you. He doesn’t know if you have an interest in me.”

Tifa raises her chin in acknowledgement, unsure how she feels about the realization. “I…I see,” she says softly. 

“It won’t hinder your career in any way,” he continues. “I made sure of that.”

Tifa’s mouth parts. “Thank you, Cloud.”

“And because he knows about my interest in you, he…” Cloud scoffs, glancing at the floor. “He likes to taunt me.”

Tifa begins to smile a little. “Don’t worry. He’s a bit too…” Tifa wrinkles her nose. “Slimy for me. Too much hair gel. Unlike yours,” she says.

One side of his mouth turns up in a smirk. His eyes fall to her lips before he looks away again, taking a step back. 

“If you’d like to discuss anything else, Ms. Lockhart, my office is open this next hour.”

“Hm,” she hums, allowing her eyes to rove over his form, admiring his business suit and how he’s still unable to relax from his encounter with Rufus. His lines are severe, and his shoulders are rolled forward in a stiff curl of discontent. “I did have a few questions I never got to ask Mr. Shinra before he left. Maybe you could answer them for me?” 

“I’ll do my best, Ms. Lockhart. If you’d follow me,” he says, his eyes glinting. He keeps his hands in his pockets and she keeps hers clasped over her tablet. 

After the past weekend and today’s discoveries, Tifa isn’t sure she can trust herself from wrapping her body around him as soon as they walk out the door. 

* * *

They make it to Tifa’s office, instead. 

It’s closer. There are no windows. There’s no reason for anyone to bother her, today, and her office is close enough to the elevators for Cloud to slip through the hallway without many of the department employees noticing. 

The only good thing to come out of Rufus visiting the company—everyone is more distracted than usual. 

As soon as Tifa locks the door behind her, Cloud handles her like he’s made for nothing else. His hands are on her hips, pushing down her skirt, gripping her ass. 

No, she thinks. There were two good things to come out of Rufus visiting the company. 

Office distraction, yes. But Cloud’s anger is the only thing Tifa cares about.

As he spins her around, he stares at her heavy-lidded, pushing her against the door and dipping his mouth to her neck. He sucks on her harder than he has before, and she wonders in a mad, uncaring rush if he’ll leave a bruise. 

A mark. A hickey.

_Jealousy,_ her mind corrects. _Not anger. Jealousy._

She breathes out, curling her fingers into his feathery hair. She moans into the empty room, and Cloud chuckles against her skin. 

“Are you thinking about how Rufus kissed my hand?” she asks.

He pushes his thumbs into her thighs, spreading them apart and pressing his groin into her underwear. 

“No. No, I’m thinking about how I’ll make you forget it.”

His voice is dark and deep and unending, like a cavern in the sea. 

“Oh,” she purrs. “You’re so handsome when you’re jealous.”

“Am I?” 

“Not that you’re…not handsome any other time…” she breathes, closing her eyes and focusing on the points of his mouth. His teeth scrape against her collarbone. His fingers rise to curl underneath the band of her underwear, the color of their favorite day, pulling them down her legs.

“That’s good to know,” he huffs against her, gently settling her feet back onto the floor—when had he raised her up?—and goes to kneel in front of her. “I can’t ever stop looking at you.”

He trails his tongue up her inner thigh. Her exhale trembles as it pulls out of her lungs. 

“You didn’t look at me today,” she says, though she’s mostly teasing him. 

“I wanted to. I wanted you to sit by me, and I wanted to finger you under the desk.”

Tifa gasps. _“Cloud.”_

“Can you be quiet again, Tifa? There are more people outside,” he whispers against her, his breath hitting her clit. She nearly moans at the feeling. 

“I don’t know,” she admits. “Not if you do this to me. Not if you—“

He licks her from her base up to her clit, and she presses her head back into the door. It rattles. 

He brings up his thumbs and spreads her wider. He sucks on her, tapping her clit with his tongue. 

She exhales loudly, biting back a whimper. She squirms against his hands, her hips bucking up into his tongue in rhythmic, gentle thrusts. 

“Oh, Cloud,” she whispers. 

“I wanted…to kiss you…in front of Shinra,” he says, pausing to skim his teeth against her folds. One of his fingers press underneath, slipping into her body. She gasps again, one hand splayed against the door, the other finding the back of his head. She thinks about what he told her over the phone that Sunday. 

_Grab my head and push me further into you._

She does just that, and his moans reverberate against her like a drum beat. 

“Fuck…Cloud…Shiva,” she hisses, finding his tempo. One of her legs rises off the floor, needing something—anything—to do. “Do it next time,” she cries softly. “Kiss me at the ceremony.”

“We’ll see,” he pauses, circling his mouth over her. When he brushes his teeth against her clit, again and again, she comes immediately. She tries to contain her moan into a quiet hum, her stomach clenching into a delicate spasm. 

He moves away from her slowly, and when he stands, Tifa stares at the shine of his mouth and chin, the shimmery gloss of his eyes. She steps forward and brings his head down into a kiss, hard and needy and clawing. 

She paws at his erection, and he groans. “Tifa—“

“I want you to know you never have to be jealous,” she says, her voice brimming with emotion, overzealous with the high from the orgasm. 

“But I will be,” he says as she unzips his pants. She pushes them down, roughly pushing his briefs out of the way, next. He sighs when he’s released, and she squeezes him with her fist. His words pause and his eyes pinch close before he opens them again, saying, “I see how men look at you.”

“But you know what?” she asks, somehow blushing at his words and the scrutiny of his stare. She places a hand on his chest and pushes him forward. He is corralled until his bottom hits the edge of her desk. She mimics him from before, going to kneel in front of him. She kisses the tip of his erection, and he growls, his palms pressing into the desk, his fingers whitening and his knuckles taut. 

“The only thing that matters is how _you_ look at me, Cloud.” 

With that, she takes him into her mouth. 

And there is nothing like the way he looks at her then.


	14. XIV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone. Sorry about the wait! I hope everyone has been doing well. As always, thank you so much for the comments, the love, the support. I don't know if this story would have been any good had it not been for you readers. 
> 
> [kotaface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aveyune23/pseuds/kotaface) has been a pillar for me. I think everyone knows this by now, but honestly? I'd be a lost human without her. I'm so glad I've met you, bby. You're the greatest.
> 
> [SassyUnicorn7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyUnicorn7/pseuds/SassyUnicorn7) thank you for offering so much advice and ideas and encouragement when I didn't even realize I needed it. 
> 
> Happy reading! I hope everyone enjoys this one!  
> Warning: a bit heavier, more story-driven, minimal smut ~~i apologize in advance~~

Wednesday evening, Tifa invites Cloud over for dinner. She suggests he help her with cooking, and he diligently goes about chopping the vegetables she lays out for him. She handles the meat, since he’s such a “baby about the texture.” At her words, his lips pucker in what Tifa can only call a pout.

“Just because I hate how it feels…” he grumbles.

Tifa grins, kissing his cheek. She takes the vegetables from him, sliding them off the cutting board and onto a roasting pan.

“Have you been practicing?” she asks, observing the cuts as she seasons the pieces.

He blushes. “Uh…a few times, when I’m not here.”

“I can tell,” she says, placing the pan in the oven. She walks over to the sink, and she rinses off her hands.

Shaking his head, he smirks and meets her in the small aisle of the kitchen. He places his hands on her hips and turns her toward him. She dries her palms and lets them come up to the line of his shoulders. He leans forward to kiss her, and she presses her body against him. The kiss is sweet and soft, and Cloud ends it with a sigh.

“I’m going out of town tomorrow,” he says. “Last minute business trip.”

“Oh, really?” she asks, settling back just enough to look up at his face. “Something for Rufus?”

He shifts. “Kind of. It’s for the company and…something I need to do,” he says.

She runs an absent hand over his chest. “Where are you going?”

“I…” he trails. “The Western Continent. There’s…a materia plant.” He shakes his head. “Sorry. I’m…not supposed to say. We’ll verify it and announce it all on Sunday.”

Tifa frown a little, but she nods. “Yeah…yeah, okay.” She sighs. “When are you leaving tomorrow?”

“Early morning,” he says. “I should be back before the ceremony.”

“You better be,” she says, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “It’s not a ceremony if the CEO isn’t there.”

Cloud smirks. “I have to kiss you, too, don’t I? In front of everyone for the world to see.”

She grins. “I don’t know. That breaks the rules of business policy. Rufus might fire us.”

“He wouldn’t dare fire you,” he says. “Trust me. He’ll probably send you flowers like Al did.” Rolling his eyes, he squeezes her closer.

She chuckles against him before lapsing into silence. Humming, she says, “I’m going to miss you.”

“…me, too,” he mumbles. “It won’t be long.”

“Call me? Let me know when you make it and that you’re safe.”

He runs his fingers through her hair. “Of course.”

Biting her lip, she says, “Be careful.”

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll be fine.”

“I know you slay dragons, but…”

He scoffs a laugh. “I’ll be fine. I have to make my way back to you.”

She almost rolls her eyes at him, but his words warm her regardless. “You’re ridiculous, Strife.”

“Just being honest,” he says.

After a moment, she steps back to check on the chicken. Satisfied, she leans against the island, tilting her head at him. “I’m actually from the Western Continent. Nibelheim. It’s a smaller city. It isn’t as big as Midgar, even smaller than Edge.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I knew that from your resume.”

“Oh. Right,” she says. “Well, if you’re in the neighborhood or stop there when traveling, they have the _best_ pie shop.”

“Do they?” he asks.

“Yes. They have a pie shop and a bowling alley. There’s a really good diner there, too. It’s mostly for tourists, but they have delicious milkshakes.”

Cloud smiles. “That sounds nice.”

“There’s a rundown playground near my neighborhood. I guess, it used to be rundown. It was cleaned up before I left.”

“You used to play there growing up?” he asks.

“Yeah, when I was younger. It became the place to go for older teenagers to…you know. Meet up with each other.”

“Ah,” Cloud mutters. “You go there often?”

“Only a few times,” she confesses, glancing away toward the countertop. “Once for a boy. Other times for my girlfriends who needed to talk.”

Tifa remembers that—high school, when every single blemish in life was the end of the world. So much weight and dramatics, so many times where situations were puzzles without a solution, where hugs and soft words were glue to repair hearts and wounds.

“I can see you doing that,” Cloud says. “Helping your friends. Being an ear for them. You were popular even then, weren’t you?”

Tifa blushes lightly at that, smiling. “Oh, no. I wouldn’t say that. I just wanted to be there for them whenever they needed me.”

Cloud makes a soft noise, sounding almost like a grunt. “You said once for a boy.”

Tifa thinks back to it—how innocent their meeting had been, how they had swung on the seats of the swing set, chatting lowly into the stillness of the night. He’d been a fair-haired, soft-spoken, and had eyes as warm and brown as dark chocolate. Nothing had happened from it, not even a kiss. Her father made sure of that. When Tifa looks up at Cloud, she smiles.

“You know how you said you have a type?” she asks. At his raised eyebrow, she continues. “I guess I have a type, too. Fair-haired, soft-spoken…blue-eyed.”

“Lucky me,” he says. “The boy you met was like that?”

“Yes. Just about.” She shakes her head. “He had brown eyes instead of blue.”

“Ah,” Cloud says, smiling. “Was he skinny? Short?”

“He was,” she admits. “His hair wasn’t as spiked, though.”

“No wonder it didn’t last.”

She laughs. “Yes. No wonder.” She crosses her arms, beginning to feel nostalgic. Memories race across her mind, and she settles into them.

“It was a good place to grow up,” she says. “Quiet and quaint…when I was younger, I thought it was boring and small, and when mom died, it felt so suffocating. I began to hate it. Now, though,” she says, shrugging one shoulder.“I’m glad that’s my hometown. It wasn’t terrible. It was just enough.”

Cloud leans against the opposite countertop, looking at her. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“We lived on the outskirts of Kalm for most of my childhood. Not many people there,” he says. “I never knew much differently until I was a teenager, but…I don’t know. Made me wonder what else was out there. Everything seemed so… _big_ outside of my home. I wanted to explore and figure it all out.” He scoffs a little, glancing toward the floor. “Then my dad died, and I didn’t care about the world so much.”

A sad smile begins to form on Tifa’s face. It hits her with pure force—because she knows exactly what he means. She knows what it feels like for the world to drain the passion and wonderment and excitement from dreams and hope and possibilities. She knows what it feels like to think that happiness doesn’t exist, to watch the people you love crumble into despair like a house burning into ash.

Most of all, she knows what it’s like to be unable to do anything to fix it.

“Do you care about it, now?” she asks.

He glances up at her. His gaze roves over the planes of her face, landing on her lips. They catch eyes for a moment, and he opens his mouth before closing it.

“I care about it more than I have in a while,” he says. “Enough to…learn how to cook better.”

Tifa’s smile brightens at that.

“Good. I’m glad.”

His eyes fall to her smile.

“Yeah. Me, too.”

Later, when they are full and warm with food, they pull each other to her bedroom. They curl up on the bed and pull down the covers and have sex. Tifa calls it _making love_ in the confines of her mind, because their hands weave and intertwine above her head. Her legs wrap around his waist like a ribbon tied along a gift. He rolls into her with slow surety, angling deeper and deeper as she matches his thrusts, their skin hitting and rubbing like it’s the only thing they were made to do. In the moment, it _is_ the only thing.

Their foreheads press together as they recover, coming so delicately and completely. Cloud’s hands trail up and down her thighs, and her hands come up to hold the damp lines of his neck.

“I have to pack,” he says. “Should have done it earlier.”

“Mm, I wish you did,” she mumbles, kissing him. “That’s okay. Five more minutes?”

“Yeah,” he says, turning to the side. He pulls her into him and kisses her again. “Five more.”

When they part and Cloud dresses, Tifa wraps herself in a bathrobe. Cloud stares at her when she does, and he shakes his head.

“Remember when I sent you all those lingerie pictures?” he asks. “It still needs to happen.”

She chuckles at him, placing her hands on her hips. He rubs at his face and looks away, sighing.

“Maybe I’ll have a surprise for you when you get back,” she winks.

Cloud begins giving her an indulgent grin. “If you’re offering.”

She walks him to the door, and they linger there. Cloud gives her a kiss goodbye.

“See you soon,” he says.

“See you. Be careful.”

“I will.” He smiles softly before he turns and walks down the stairwell.

Tifa closes the door when he’s out of sight, and it’s strange how different it feels without him in the cramped space of her apartment.

There is suddenly too much room.

* * *

The week drags on. Knowing Cloud isn’t in the office building makes work and meetings much less exciting than they have been the past seven weeks. It astounds Tifa it’s already been seven weeks and has _only_ been seven weeks. It feels simultaneously too short and absurdly long.

At closing time Thursday as Tifa is leaving the building, she wonders if this is how it will feel if Cloud discontinues his career after the merger. It is a sensation of emptiness, just like it had been in her apartment.

Her phone buzzes as she steps onto the sidewalk. Expecting Cloud’s name on her phone, it surprises her when it’s Yuffie’s. She smiles and opens the message.

 **Yuffie:** _Dinner date with SOLDIER CFO is a go. 7 pm._

 **Jessie:** _Wear the short dress!!!_

Tifa laughs.

 **Tifa:** _That dark green dress, right?_

 **Yuffie:** _Yes. Excellent idea, ladies._

 **Aerith:** _Okay wait but how fast did he respond??_

 **Yuffie:** _Fast enough. We texted throughout the work day._

Tifa raises a brow, trying to imagine Vincent reading his text messages and contemplating his responses in the middle of work. And meetings. It boggles Tifa’s mind.

 **Tifa:** _Honestly, thinking about Vincent texting at all is a stretch for me. Which means he is very interested._

 **Jessie:** _Oh man, it sounds like he might finally want a different piece of ass than that Lucrecia chick._

 **Yuffie:** _Listen, I’m offering that we use each other, first. And if he says yes, then I wouldn’t mind grabbing his ass, also. ;)_

 **Aerith:** _Grab all the ass._

 **Tifa:** _Vincent will be too prim and proper. You need to teach him, Yuffie._

 **Yuffie:** _Oh, that I can do. Sounds like a fun challenge._

Tifa smiles at that.

 **Jessie:** _You better give us a play by play, I swear to all that is holy._

 **Aerith:** _I will be on my couch all evening, waiting for updates._

 **Tifa:** _Me, too. Oh you know what we should do??_

 **Jessie:** _What??_

 **Jessie:** _Wait I know I know. Converge at someone’s apartment! I’ll have the chocolate._

 **Aerith:** _I’ll have wine! <3_

Tifa grins, typing out quickly.

 **Tifa:** _My apartment! I have a bottle of wine, too, Aerith._

 **Aerith:** _Okay, that means I’ll only bring about three more. LOL_

 **Jessie:** _OMG this is so exciting. When was the last time we did this?? On a WEEKDAY? Wow, who are we?_

 **Yuffie:** _Why am I jealous that I’m the one going on this date and missing the girl convergence?!_

 **Tifa:** _No, Yuffie, you must seduce him. We won’t be too mad if you can’t make it to my apartment after dinner, though._

 **Aerith:** _Just as long as you go to the bathroom and update us._

 **Jessie:** _I am team Yuffie Gets Fucked Tonight, but I also wouldn’t mind if you didn’t and came back home to join us._

 **Yuffie:** _We shall see. I will send updates, you can bet on it. And we’re going here._

Yuffie sends an address, and Tifa taps on it. It opens up to a restaurant website in upper Sector 1, and Tifa’s eyebrows raise at the complete and utter indulgence of the photos and menu prices.

Yuffie replies with a devil-emoji before anyone can respond.

 **Yuffie:** _Tbh this makes me NOT want to put out yet, because it is stupid expensive. And he chose it._

 **Jessie:** _DAYUMMMM, is this his normal CFO outing or what_

 **Aerith:** _This looks like a place you’d get engaged, not a first date._

 **Tifa:** _This IS Vincent. This is probably his general fare._

 **Yuffie:** _Listen, I don’t mind it. LMAO_

 **Yuffie:** _Maybe I’ll do a kiss and a crotch grab and leave him wanting. HAH_

 **Aerith:** _A crotch grab!! Omg please. Hahaha_

 **Tifa:** _Haha Yuffie! If you don’t tease him I would be very disappointed._

 **Jessie:** _Yuff, have I ever told you that you have my heart and soul because I completely support this._

Tifa giggles as she arrives to her apartment, beginning to tidy up and ready her place for the girls to come over. She showers, slips on her sweats, and texts the girls.

 **Tifa:** _Want me to make dinner or order in?_

 **Jessie:** _OMG TEEF I have not had your food in so long. Is it selfish of me to ask you to feed us? Aerith, what you think?_

 **Aerith:** _Oh, I am always down for Tifa’s food but only if you want to spend the time cooking! Ordering in is perfect, too._

Tifa warms up all over.

 **Tifa:** _I love cooking for you guys! Cooking it is!_

 **Jessie:** _Fuck yeah_

 **Aerith:** _Okay, I’m bringing over my sleepover bag, hope you don’t mind._

 **Jessie:** _I wasn’t even going to ask lol_

 **Tifa:** _Perfect. Yes, please sleepover!_

 **Tifa:** _And what food do you feel? Pasta? Those chicken kabobs?_

 **Jessie:** _Literally anything._

 **Aerith:** _Ohhhh pasta? Pasta and wine and chocolate. This is the promised land._

 **Jessie:** _Genius, pure genius. I’m salivating._

Yuffie responds twenty minutes before 7:00 pm.

 **Yuffie:** _Fuck._

 **Yuffie:** _Seriously. You guys._

 **Yuffie:** _Eating pasta and wine WITHOUT ME._

 **Yuffie:** _Vincent better be worth it, goddamn it._

 **Jessie:** _But how hot do you look?_

 **Aerith:** _So hot, I feel her steam hitting me like a sauna._

Tifa, busy with prepping the food, keeps her phone open so she can read the texts roll in. She snorts at Yuffie’s responses and laughs at the rest.

 **Jessie:** _Hot like a stovetop burner._

 **Aerith:** _Like a bonfire_

 **Jessie:** _You could fry an egg on her_

 **Aerith:** _I’m sweating like a whore in church_

 **Jessie:** _Hotter than Ifrit’s balls_

 **Aerith:** _Hotter than Ifrit’s asshole_

 **Yuffie:** _Omg_

 **Jessie:** _Hotter than Ifrit’s underwear_

 **Yuffie:** _You guys please_

 **Jessie:** _Hotter than a shruiken up Vincent’s ass_

 **Aerith:** _Hotter than a shruiken up RENO’s ass_

 **Jessie:** _Hotter than Vincent’s stare on Yuffie’s perfectly rounded ass_

 **Aerith:** _Hotter than the flames of the sun in Vincent’s red eyes as he stares at that perfectly rounded ass_

 **Jessie:** _Aerith, I’m high-fiving you right now._

 **Yuffie:** _OKAY YOU GUYS GOODBYE_

 **Aerith:** _Hehe, thanks I was really inspired. Yuffie go make him fall in love with you._

 **Jessie:** _We’ll be thinking of you as we gorge ourselves on pasta and wine_

 **Yuffie:** _I hate you all._

 **Yuffie:** _< 3_

* * *

By the time Sunday rolls around, Tifa has texted Cloud all of five times.

The first was his _I made it_ text. The second was Tifa’s _Good luck with the job!_

The third and fourth was a good morning and good night text. The fifth was his _Coming home_ text on Sunday morning.

Tifa smiles as she reads it early that day.

 _See you soon,_ she types. Then she adds a heart at the end after a moment’s hesitation.

Just past noon, Cloud texts her again.

 **Cloud:** _What are you wearing, tonight?_

She’s standing in her closet, thinking about just that. She has two dresses she never wears but has bought for special occasions. Yuffie is coming over a little later, and she already knows which one she’ll choose. The first drapes along her hips and shoulders, a feminine cut of fabric in a shimmery, light purple. The second is a dark blue, almost indigo color, with a daring neckline and hem that stops two and a half inches below her bottom. Tifa knows this exact number, because she measured it.

Yuffie will pick the second one.

 **Tifa:** _A dress._

 **Cloud:** _No details?_

 **Tifa:** _Nope. You’ll have to wait. I did think about a suit and tie so we could match._

 **Cloud:** _Honestly, you would look good in that, too._

 **Tifa:** _Haha, yeah right._

 **Cloud:** _I’d dig it._

 **Tifa:** _Did you just say dig it?_

 **Cloud:** _Yeah. I know, I’m hilarious._

 **Tifa:** _Yes, you really are._

 **Cloud:** _I think you’re the only person who thinks I’m funny._

 **Tifa:** _I’m 100% certain that’s a lie._

 **Cloud:** _I promise you._

 **Tifa:** _Sure, sure. How far out are you?_

 **Cloud:** _Four hours or so. Stopped for lunch. About to get back on the road._

 **Tifa:** _Alright. Be careful._

 **Cloud:** _I will._

 **Cloud:** _As long as I don’t think about you in a dress._

Tifa rolls her eyes, but she smiles nonetheless.

* * *

“Okay, okay, so you’re wearing this one. You _cannot_ say no.”

Yuffie all but screams it at her as she lovingly lays the dress across her bed. Tifa watches as Yuffie gives her her most _I dare you_ look. She sighs.

“Yuffie, that isn’t appropriate for the business function. It shows…too much.”

Yuffie rolls her eyes, falling onto her bed in a huff. “Then why’d you buy it? I’ve seen you wear it once. _Once.”_

“Yes, but…”

“And you’re going to take it off at the end of the evening _anyway,”_ Yuffie says, grinning widely. “Not like it’ll hurt you. Besides, I’m wearing this one!”

She bounces off the bed and goes to the living room, brandishing the dress in the plastic sleeve in front of her.

“It is just as daring as yours. We’ll be _matching._ You won’t be alone. We can look tantalizingly hot together. We’ve got boys to impress.”

Tifa admits, looking at the scraps of fabric between them—which both cost an inordinate amount of money for the amount of cloth actually stitched together—does make her a bit excited. And nervous. She’s never been to such a large celebratory function with so many bigwigs mingling with one another, drinking, talking, and having an all around good time. She’s definitely never been to one where she was secretly dating the CEO.

Her mind catches. _Dating._ Were they dating? She frowns. It must say enough that she doesn’t know exactly what they are. And perhaps it doesn’t matter. After tonight, things might change. Cloud may make his decision about his future. He might even kiss her in front of the company—but she highly doubts that. It was more of a tease than anything else.

Regardless, she imagines walking into the Shinra Convention center, arm in arm with Yuffie, and catching Cloud’s eyes while in that dress, wondering how he’ll look at her or what he’ll do.

The mere thought of it plunges into her stomach like a pour of molten lava. Her discomfort in the face of Cloud’s reaction suddenly seems like a childish argument.

Placing her hands on her hips, she says determinedly, “Okay. Let’s match.”

Yuffie fist pumps into the air.

“Atta girl! I knew you’d come to your senses!”

Tifa huffs, smiling and going to the bathroom. Yuffie follows closely behind.

Yuffie’s date with Vincent the other evening went so well, even Yuffie was flabbergasted by it. In her shock from the date, the easy agreement to take her to the ceremony, and how the lighting brandished his red, gleaming eyes, Yuffie did something very out of character at the end of the dinner.

She turned down his invitation to his apartment.

That Vincent Valentine even _invited_ Yuffie to his place of living was unfathomable. That Yuffie said _no_ was incomprehensible.

Yet, for all of Yuffie’s bluster, confidence, and sexual cheekiness, Tifa has to remind herself that Yuffie loves deeply. She shows it with teasing and reckless abandon and annoying nags and obnoxious quirks, but at the end of the day, she is still a girl with a handful of insecurities and fears.

When she arrived at Tifa’s apartment that evening, her cheeks were rosy from imbibing too much sake, and her hair was ruffled as if it had been fluffed with kissing.

“Nope,” she had said, pointing at her hair. “Nope, this was just me, running my hands through my own damn hair because sweet Leviathan—I wasn’t expecting him to be as smooth as me!”

Jessie had asked why the fuck she was there. Aerith giggled and slapped her on the shoulder before hauling herself off the couch to wrap her arms around Yuffie’s shoulders. Tifa placed her chin in her hand and watched Aerith and Yuffie’s interaction with a dopey, wine-filled smile.

“Luckily!” Yuffie had said, carrying on and squeezing Aerith to her side. “Him and I want the same thing. To move on.”

Aerith squealed. Jessie cackled. Tifa grinned.

“Really? He said that?” Tifa asked.

Yuffie waved her hand. “In so many words.”

Tifa’s eyes narrowed. Jessie drawled, “Wait, in so many words? What the hell does that mean?”

Aerith poked Yuffie’s stomach. Yuffie whined. “He said he was tired of Lucrecia’s games. I said I was tired of being in emotional limbo. So, win-win.”

They all crashed on the couch together, drinking the rest of the wine and eating the last few pieces of chocolate before passing out sprawled across the cushions.

Now, preparing their faces in the mirror, Tifa catches Yuffie’s eye. Yuffie raises a brow.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing, just…” Tifa trails, smiling and shrugging. “I’m happy you’re here with me, that’s all.”

Yuffie bumps her hip. “Ditto, hot stuff.”

* * *

They take a drive share to the convention center. As they arrive and step out of the car, Yuffie threads her arm through Tifa’s, just as Tifa knew she would.

“Wow, I feel like I’m on some kind of red carpet or something,” Yuffie stage whispers, glancing around at the other employees arriving. “See, aren’t you glad you said yes to this dress? Because some of these people…” she whistles.

Tifa glances around. Yuffie’s right. Half the bodies surrounding the front entrance, Tifa doesn’t even recognize. Everyone has worn what looks to be their fanciest suits, ties, dresses, heels, and hair. There are sparkles and shining baubles around necks and ears, brooches, bracelets, tattoos that have always been hidden underneath tailored business clothes, and different styles of makeup across eyelids and cheeks.

Even with the dress and curled hair, Tifa feels out of place. Yuffie must notice, because she tugs on Tifa’s arm.

“No. Quit.”

Tifa blinks. “What?”

“You’re thinking those thoughts again. That you don’t belong. Quit.”

Tifa opens her mouth before closing it. She shakes her head. “How’d you…”

Yuffie taps her temple. “I know things.”

Tifa smiles. “Have I told you I’m glad you’re here?”

“Yes, but not enough,” Yuffie beams. “Now, let’s go mingle with some boys.”

As they walk through the front doors, the entrance sprawls open into a magnificent display of chandeliers, sleek tile floors, and small, rounded tables, both raised and lowered for standing or sitting. Drinks are floating around on silver serving trays, hors d’oeuvres following closely behind. Yuffie deftly plucks two champagne glasses off of one tray that suddenly passes by them, handing one to Tifa.

“This is a fancy place,” Yuffie says, eyeballing the finery.

“Shinra does nothing in halves,” Tifa answers, gaze catching on the decor. Statues are placed in corners, each a bust of the founding fathers of the company. Rufus’ father’s statue is the largest, with others including different scientists and engineers which names elude Tifa. Vases filled with white roses encumber open tables and border the front entrance and hallways off to the right and left of the room. Spotlight shine on pictures framed on the walls, Shinra Sr. Shaking hands with different silhouettes of men—farmers, scientists, developers, and the like. Others show interchanging levels of equipment, from guns to motorcycles and automobiles. Another shows test tubes, microscopes, and a centrifuge, with different employees smiling or scowling with concentration into an eyepiece.

It is a room rich with history, resplendent with overpriced materials, and perfumed with the heavy scent that is so inexplicably Shinra, that Tifa can’t help but squint her eyes at all of it, nor can she dislike it. For all Shinra’s worth, he can certainly decorate a room.

“Oh, kill me,” Yuffie grumbles, tugging Tifa closer. “Red-haired dickwad, two o’clock.”

Tifa glances over in Yuffie’s stated direction, Reno’s shock of personality a light beam across the room. His smirk is so wide, the distance between them feels much smaller than it actually is. Tifa sighs, nudging her.

“I see your new man on the opposite side of the room. He looks a bit lonely. What do you think?”

Yuffie follows her nudge, following her gaze. She finds Vincent almost immediately. Tifa has to admit that he does look handsome with his tailored black suit, pressed black tie, and crisp white shirt pulled across his chest. It continues to shock Tifa that she had never realized the appeal Vincent Valentine could have until now.

“I think…he looks good. Really good.”

Tifa grins. “Go on, then. Save him before Lucrecia shows up.”

“Ugh,” Yuffie groans, but Tifa can see her beginning to smile. “The agony of being selfless.”

“Isn’t it such a chore?”

“The largest burden I’ve ever had to shoulder.” She squeezes Tifa’s arm before letting go, unraveling their arms. “Find me when you need me?”

“Of course. You too.”

Yuffie crosses her arms. “I can’t wait to know how Cloud looks at you. He’s going to have a coronary.”

Tifa laughs. “I hope not, for my sake.”

“You should have the ambulance on speed dial, just in case,” Yuffie grins, turning to walk off. “Later, Teef.”

Tifa watches her go, noticing how Vincent shifts when he sees her. His already straight back straightens further. He doesn’t smile as she flounces up to him, but his eyes dart to her legs before he catches himself, changing his stare to the mass of people around their table. Yuffie, in her utter boldness, reaches up and pinches his cheek. Vincent steps back in a startle, and Yuffie’s laughter bubbles up around the room.

Her mouth moves as she says something. Vincent seems to think about it, taking a drink from his glass. Yuffie punches his arm, and Vincent looks heavily disgruntled about it. This causes Yuffie to laugh even more.

“Tifa!”

Turning around at her name, Tifa beams up at the newcomer.

“Reeve,” she says, smiling. “You are dressed very well, tonight.”

Reeve extends his arms and looks down at himself, as if it’s the first time he’s noticed how he’s dressed.

“Ah, thank you. Had to dust out the old tuxedo for tonight. I’m happy it still fit me.”

Tifa chuckles. Reeve has been slim for the entire five years that she’s known him. He hasn’t changed a bit except for the lightly peppered hair in his beard and along his temples. A few crow’s feet border his eyes, but Tifa has never thought about them as wrinkles. They are happy things, developed and advanced by too many smiles.

“Of course, it still fits you,” she answers.

“Yes, well…” he trails, gesturing to her. “You look very beautiful, as always.”

Tifa smiles, attempting to keep her hands from crossing in front of her. “Thank you. Everyone here looks very nice.”

“I agree with you on that. Half the people here, I don’t feel like I know.” He smiles at her. “Did you bring a date?”

At the question, she immediately panics before she thinks of Yuffie. “I…yes. I did. One of my girlfriends. She’s currently occupied with Vincent, though.”

Reeve’s eyebrows shoot up. “Vincent? Really? Huh.”

Tifa laughs. “That was my reaction, too.”

“Gotta hand it to him, then,” he says, rubbing his goatee. “Are you looking forward to the announcement?”

A miniature chill forms a bead of ice beneath her sternum. She’s not sure why it makes her anxious. She’s been avoiding the thought of it, not wanting to waste any more nervous energy about it.

“I…yes. I think so.”

Reeve nods. “It should be…beneficial for everyone. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised, Tifa.”

She blinks. “Do you…know what it is?”

Shifting on his feet, Reeve crosses his arms. “All of the department heads are privy to the announcement, yes. I…apologize for the opacity, but it was for the best.” He places a hand on his hip. “I’m actually surprised it wasn’t leaked. Tells you a lot about the leadership, I think.”

Tifa nods, biting the inner meat of her lip. “I understand. Still, I guess I’m…hesitant about how I feel. I’ve never truly trusted Shinra Inc. but…”

_I trust Cloud._

“Don’t worry,” Reeve says, placing a hand on her shoulder. He gives her a genuine smile. “It will be just fine.”

Reeve is eventually called off to the side by Cait, who begins talking animatedly, his voice high and nasally.

Tifa sighs and glances around the room for Cloud. She glances at her phone, but it has no new messages. Reeve’s words repeat through her mind. _I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised._

The words feel like a zipper pulled too tight, like cold, chilled fingers pressed against her spine.

She walks around, finding an empty table and filching another glass of champagne. She watches the people around her, her eyes spying Al and a few girls from another department. She catches Elena’s blonde bob. She's standing beside the black, long-haired man, Tseng, if Tifa remembers correctly, who actually seems to be smiling. Elena, for her part, looks even prettier than usual with red lipstick and eyeshadow dusting around her eyes. Elena sees Tifa after a moment and smiles, waving. Tifa waves back.

Her gaze eventually lands on Scarlet—who is unsurprisingly wearing another red dress—and is somehow even more scandalous than her work dresses. Her neckline dips down to her bellybutton, the slit on the side nearly reaching up to her hipbone. Her hair folds down around her face in waves, and her eyes are lined with black, sharpening the icicles of her blue irises. Her lips are the color of a last, dying breath. They are two slices of bleeding plums, dark red and bruised.

She is ferocious and magnetizing in her beauty. Heads turn in her direction, averting their eyes and swiveling back, unable to look away for long. Tifa can’t help herself from staring, either. It’s as if she _has_ to look, and she dislikes her just a little bit more because of it.

“Tifa.”

She glances up, too distracted by Scarlet to notice Cloud’s arrival, and she is even more annoyed at Scarlet for stealing away the moment of noticing his entrance. He is already standing a mere five feet away from her. His tuxedo shines under the crystals of the chandelier, and if Tifa hadn’t known any better, she’d think he’d stolen a spotlight from one of the statues at the front of the room.

His jacket is the color of a black hole, swallowing the world. The white cream of his shirt is such a sharp contrast with it that it zings into her stomach. It emphasizes his eye color, and she sees the swirl of deep blue and green fighting against one another as he stares.

“Cloud,” she says. “Hi.”

His eyes travel down her dress, and every muscle in her seizes up. She loses her breath. It feels like it’s been so long since she’s seen him. Has it only been three days? No, she thinks. It’s been nearly a lifetime. He almost looks different—sharper lines around his jaw, his lips soft and kissable sitting below tanned cheeks. It must be from the drive. He’s fresh from a journey, washed and scrubbed from the wind and sunlight of the winding roads. His eyes are dark with the sheen of lust, but they are also bright and eager, swallowing her up with a simple gaze.

“Hi,” he says, his voice low and easy. It trickles over her like rain. “May I share the table with you?”

She takes a deep breath, trying to regain her presence of mind. She wants to reach out and grip his crisply dressed shoulders, dig her fingers into his collar, and taste the journey on his lips. She wants to tell him she’s been thinking about him in her bed, wrapped in her sheets, every night he’s been gone. 

“Of course,” she whispers. 

Instead of standing across from her, he steps forward. He comes right up beside her, gently touching her arm. She tenses up to keep from reaching to skim his face with her fingers.

“You’re beautiful, tonight. I mean, you’re beautiful all the time, but…”

She smiles, blushing. “You’re not so bad, yourself. You look...handsome.”

He stares at her. She stares back. 

“I want to kiss you,” he says, daring to graze her hip with his palm. She bites the inside meat of her lip.

“Why don’t you?”

He sighs, his jaw moving. A hand comes up to run through his hair. “Don’t tempt me.”

“You shouldn’t have looked so…” she pauses, eyes running over him. “Sexy.”

His fist clenches on the table. “Your dress is…” he trails, his eyes darting to her cleavage. “To see you after three days in…in _that._ ”

His voice is craggy and rough. He presses himself further against the table, and Tifa glances down. Her cheeks heat and her breath comes out in a huff. 

“Cloud…” she says. “Are you…”

“Yes.” His voice is clipped. “Gaia, I want you.”

Her blood rushes in a blazing hum. She glances up around the room, grabbing her glass to keep from grabbing his hand. No one seems to notice them standing so close—everyone else seems to be too close to one another, anyway. They won’t look suspicious in the grand scheme of things. 

“I want you, too,” she says.

He makes a small groan in the back of his throat. 

“We could go to the bathroom,” he says.

“Hm, we could,” she answers, his heated reaction inspiring her. She turns her body to face him fully. “Or we could find another room in this building.”

“It’s big enough,” Cloud says, turning to match her. Their bodies are inches apart, and Tifa can feel his warmth in the space between them. “We could find another desk.”

Tifa’s cheeks redden deeper, encouraged by the light edge of the alcohol. She leans forward just enough, so close to his cheek and ear, and she’s not sure how she keeps from kissing him. Instead she says, “We can make it quick. It’s still the weekend.”

She settles back. His eyes chase her, and he swallows. “Still the weekend? What do you…?”

Tifa laughs lightly and breathlessly, turning back to the table and taking a sip of the champagne.

Cloud watches her for a minute. In a slow descent, his eyes fog over. “Do you mean you’re…”

She smiles at him, lowering her voice. “I don’t wear underwear on Sundays.”

Cloud chokes. “Tifa…” He glances down to the dangerously short line of her dress. “You’re not…”

A hand claps down on Cloud’s shoulder, and Tifa has never seen him jump so high. It startles him so much, he begins to stutter.

“Mr. Strife!” Barret bellows, laughing loudly. He’s holding a half-empty beer bottle, grinning over to Tifa. “And Teef. You are lookin’ dynamite. Don’t let this CEO get the best of you.” He laughs again, and Tifa can tell he’s drunk because he’s never _this_ happy during work.

Tifa smiles back. “I won’t, Barret.”

Barret shakes Cloud’s shoulder, and Cloud scowls, but he seems too incapacitated with attempting to keep his front situated away from Barret’s view. Tifa has to bite her tongue to keep from laughing outright at him.

“No business, Mr. Strife!” Barret points. “No firing anyone for lookin’ at you funny, ya hear?”

“Noted,” Cloud mumbles, glaring at Barret. Barret laughs again, shakes his head, and stomps away. Cloud watches him go and mutters, “Why does he always kill the mood?”

Tifa giggles, following his gaze. “His timing is…too good.”

“Too _terrible,”_ Cloud sighs, snatching a champagne glass from a waiter. He drinks it aggressively. Tifa observes him, witnessing him finally relax, and, unfortunately, losing his arousal.

“How was the trip?” she asks eventually.

He shifts, staring at his dainty glass. “Tiring.”

“Do a lot?”

His brows pinch together. “I tried. Didn’t go anywhere, though.”

Tilting her head, she says, “What do you mean? Was the plant not sustainable?”

Cloud opens his mouth before scowling. He glances back at her, and she sees a flicker of hesitation. It makes the pressure of the anxiety crawl up her spine, finding a tender spot behind her neck.

“No. It wasn’t that,” he says.

She frowns. “What’s wrong?”

He places his weight through his elbows on the table. “After the announcement…” he trails, averting his eyes. “I’ll tell you. I promise.”

Her trust in him wars with the collar of nervousness squeezing her throat.

She gazes at the line of his jaw and the indecision of his eyes. She swallows and says, “Okay.”

It doesn’t take long for Rufus to take the helm at the front of the room. A projector has been set up, the insignia of the Shiva and Ifrit design hold precedence against the white wash backdrop of the wall. Rufus taps a champagne glass with a knife into the microphone on the podium, and the room slowly dims to a hushed quiet, broken up by the occasional laugh or whispered conversation that rebelliously continues on.

“My fellow colleagues and compatriots,” Rufus drawls into the microphone. He smiles and glances over the whole room like a swipe of a hand. “I am grateful and a blessed man to have so many passionate, intelligent, driven individuals in my midst. I wanted to thank you all, first and foremost, for your patience with this merger and for your faith in maintaining your positions with us. This new and improved company would not be here without your diligence, hardworking efforts, or teamwork.”

Tifa glances at Cloud, catching his eye. “Is this still Rufus Shinra?”

Cloud shakes his head. “I’m as surprised as you. I didn’t think he’d be so genuine.”

“With that being said, I want to talk about the new frontier we have been trying so hard to perfect before coming to the forefront. Where’s Cloud Strife? Cloud, come up here.”

Tifa angles herself so that Cloud can walk past her. She gives him a smile. He tries to smile back, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He makes his way to the front of the room, standing to the right of the podium. He glances around the audience, but Tifa doesn’t think he truly sees any of them. He shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Now, several months ago, I reached out to Cloud about an idea. At first he was skeptical, and understandably so. I was, too. It wasn’t until we made the discovery of Shiva and Ifrit that I knew we had something that could change the world forever. The earth creates orbs filled with life’s force. With magic. With _power._ They are right beneath our feet if we only know where to look. We can harness them with the correct tools. And who knows how many there are? Shiva and Ifrit are sentient beings, but not all of them are like that. Some hold fire. Some hold ice. And another…another holds something else entirely.”

Everyone in the room has stopped talking. Not even a lingering whisper or a cough resounds against the silence. Tifa’s fingers curl harder against the glass. She feels the pressure of her anxiety at the base of her skull. Her heart thuds.

“I introduce to you…Cure!” Rufus says, and the panel behind him changes. It is a picture of a green, glowing orb, resembling the summoning orbs of Shiva and Ifrit. It is big enough to fit in the entirety of Tifa’s palm, and in the moving picture on the wall, a list of details begin filling the space beside it. As Tifa reads over them, the blood begins to drain from her face.

“Over the generations, we’ve had several inventions for healthcare. Potions. Elixirs. Antidotes and balms and the like. These items have been imperative to sustain us. They have helped us to heal cuts and wounds, have been used for simple joint pains and headaches, and have been utilized as analgesics for surgeries. Every year we have evolved to make them better, more efficient, and, in some cases, less costly. But we continue to _lack._ What about the regenerative medicines? What about the antagonists of this world we can’t fight? Burns. Heart attacks. Strokes. Alzheimer’s.”

Tifa stares at the screen. Then she stares at Rufus. In the middle of it, her eyes lock with Cloud, and when Rufus says, “Cancer,” the glass in her hand cracks. She inhales a small gasp, glancing down at her hand to see a few trickles of blood seeping out from the creases of her fingers. She doesn’t feel them. Instead, she looks back up at the screen.

 _Cancer._ In big, bold letters.

“SOLDIER has equipped us with weaponry and engineering, developing infrastructure and architectural marvels. Shinra has helped to generate power for the world, lighting homes, electronics and gadgets. Generating power. That’s what Shinra’s motto has always been. Now, with materia, we can utilize what the earth has given us to help us lead stronger, happier, healthier lives. We will not be invincible. We will not be immortal. But there is more to life than the fear of death. More than our disabilities and traumas, more than living half lives and wishing things could be different.”

 _Wishing things could be different._ Tifa looks up again, only for her eyes to find Cloud’s. He must have been staring at her this whole time, his gaze as intense as it is. She can almost feel the tears gathering behind her eyes. She can feel the pounding of her blood through every single artery in her brain.

A bud of hope begins to light inside of her, so immediate and unwanted, like a crescendo of a symphony. Tifa loses her breath.

“Before I get carried away,” Rufus laughs, continuing. “I must mention we have been undergoing experimental trials. Animal testing has been successful. One in particular…” The screen changes to a lion—reddish fur and a dark, russet mane. His left eye is missing, scarred shut. His lips are curled in a snarl, but his one, gleaming amber eye is alight with emblazoned fervor. He’s a beautiful, fearful being up against the white wall. “Red XIII. Afflicted with a degenerative neuromuscular disorder, he was quickly losing his ability to walk. As you can see…” Rufus trails, allowing for a video to unfold behind him. The lion’s steps stutter and jerk, and one of his paws doesn’t flex. He buckles underneath his weight, and the front half of his body tips to the floor. “Motor control was failing him. He was tripping and falling and unable to hunt or feed himself. After three timely administrations of Cure, Red XIII began showing improvements in his functional capabilities and has resumed full life in the wild. It has been three months without any signs of regression.”

Tifa watches the next scene unfold on the wall, showing Red XIII pre-Cure and his movements post-Cure. He looks like a different animal—his muscles are more defined, his ribs no longer shadowed and his limbs full and healthy. Tifa squints to make sure he’s still missing an eye in both videos, because this can’t be real. _This can’t be real._

“I will not say that this is a one size fits all. I don’t know if it will heal every disability. But it has potential. If it can help regenerate nervous tissue, it has the potential to regenerate all others. Clinical trials have started with humans, and we are always looking for anyone who would like to be part of this study, more individuals with different afflictions and diseases, so that we can speed this process along and make it readily available to the public. Now that this merger has finally, truly taken place, the studies, experiments, and streamlining efforts will be even better than before.”

Rufus pauses, smiling out into the crowd. His lips are turned in a smug line, utterly pleased, his icy eyes alight with the hunger of discovery. It strikes Tifa that while Rufus may be arrogant and self-absorbed and used to getting what he wants, he also has a fiery drive. His tone throughout his announcement is riddled with heat, his voice lilting as if he could not get the information out fast enough. Standing tall and brazenly in his white suit jacket—matching the color of his own marble bust in the room—he resembles a beacon of light in a dark, dreary tunnel. Tifa never would have thought that she would place so much faith in his words. So much faith in this announcement and this merger and what he is proposing, because it is suddenly so personal. His words strum her heartstrings like a guitar. Her hand is still bleeding, and she absently grabs a napkin on the table to crumple it around her fingers. Her hands shake, and she takes a deep, fortifying breath.

“I know everyone must have several questions, and I will do my best to answer them. This is very much in its infancy, and the pharmaceutical department is doing its best to find alternative ways of administration, distilling Cure from the orbs of materia, packaging and the like. We are also discovering different types of materia every week, which I am hoping will later be equipped into different weaponry. But that is a chat for another day.” Rufus nods to Cloud standing to his right. “In light of all of this, I believe our _ex-_ CEO has something to announce, as well.”

Cloud’s face is as severe as ever. He glances over to Tifa before taking Rufus’ place on the podium. Tifa swallows as Cloud’s stoicism replaces and tames Rufus’ sleek, cutting grin.

“Good evening, everyone,” he starts, clearing his throat. “I know this news comes as a shock to most of you. I…apologize for being unable to share it with you all until now.”

His eyes dart up, easily finding Tifa’s. She does not want to think he’s talking to her solely, in front of this whole room of people, but it feels like it—even with the stone planes of his face and the hard set of his eyes.

“I wanted to be sure, first. I thought it too good to be true. The world doesn’t work this way. It doesn’t equip us with the tools to heal ourselves or protect ourselves. We’ve always had to learn on our own. Trial and error. Experience and failure.”

The words filter through her. She squeezes the napkin.

“Then, I was able to witness Cure in action. I used it on a dying dragon. Its wing was torn and severed at the joint, its chest slashed through.”

A picture appears behind Cloud, and it is a still of the monster he is describing. It sits miserably in a pool of its own dark, tarry blood. Its eyes are murky and dulled, shadowed with the veil of death.

“I gave it a dose. I placed my hand on his jaw, and I watched it continue breathing. It needed time and extra care due the extensive wounds and the bleeding, but it survived. I knew then that this was something…if done right, this could be something we needed. We could help others. We could make the scary things _less._ What’s the saying? It is not the length of life. It’s the depth. We all die, eventually, so why not make it the best it can be while we’re here?”

Tifa feels a tear fall down her cheek, and she quickly wipes it away. She looks up to see Yuffie making her way to her table. Tifa tries to smile at her. Yuffie only looks concerned, and when she arrives, she grabs her bicep and whispers, “Are you okay?”

Tifa nods hurriedly. “I’m fine.”

“Did you know?”

Tifa glances up to Cloud. He’s looking at her again.

“…no. I didn’t.”

“Because of this,” Cloud continues. “I will no longer be CEO. I have resigned my position with the merger so that I can form another department within the company.”

The scene behind him changes. The three continents appear on the wall, with each main city around the world highlighted with a red pin. Different roads are highlighted, and it looks like a colorful spiderweb stretched and sprawled against the terrain of Gaia.

“The department will be transportation and distribution,” he says. “I want to get Cure out everywhere, but most importantly to the places that need it most. Hospitals. Rural communities. Lower socioeconomic tiers. The roads highlighted on this map don’t have a major train line. People have to travel miles and miles to get the care they need, and with increasing numbers of monsters roaming the plains, it makes it that much more difficult and dangerous. It deters them. When they are sick, it makes it that much more dire and hopeless.

“That’s why I proposed a new branch to Rufus. After seeing Cure’s effects in real time, I began to realize that we have the power to change the world, if we want. Never did I think it would be from working with Rufus Shinra,” Cloud says, and Tifa wants to laugh, but she also feels frozen in stasis, her muscles unable to participate or move. “But sometimes, the greatest things happen when you take the risk. Sometimes, believing is the first step toward the extraordinary. After tonight, I hope everyone begins to believe.” Cloud pauses. “Thank you. Rufus will open it up for questioning.”

He steps out from the podium, and his eyes immediately find Tifa. Tifa glances away, willing her heart to stop racing. She hears it boom and shudder in her ears.

She has to call her dad. She has to call him as soon as she can. She has to notify Rufus of her father and his cancer, see if she can apply him for the clinical trial.

She has so many things to do. She needs to clean her hand. She has to save her father.

She has to save her father.

She breathes in a strangled sob, not realizing how much her emotions are overcoming her. They swell in the back of her throat. She closes her eyes and wills it back. She doesn’t notice Yuffie’s hand on her shoulder until she says, “Hey, Teef, let’s go to the bathroom and fix that hand, okay?”

She shakes her head. “I have to ask Rufus for—“

“I know you do,” Yuffie interrupts. “Baby steps. Fix the hand. Then talk to Rufus. You’re pretty when you cry, Tifa, but it’s nothing compared to when you smile.”

Tifa finds the laugh that has been caged in her chest slip out of her mouth, all wet and unsteady. Yuffie weaves her fingers around her forearm and gently pulls her to the side of the room, cutting through the crowd of people. Tifa looks up to see Cloud watching them leave. He still stands beside the podium, his expression stern and uncertain. His body is turned as if he is going to follow them, but he remains in his position.

Yuffie seems to do most of the work when they reach the bathroom, sudsing up Tifa’s hands and bringing them under the warm, running water. Eventually, Tifa sighs and comes back to herself, slipping her hands away from Yuffie’s hold and rinsing them on her own. She grabs a paper towel and dabs them dry.

“This changes everything,” Tifa whispers. “Doesn’t it?”

“Well…maybe not _everything,”_ Yuffie answers, tilting her head. “But it certainly changes what _could_ happen. There’s hope, Teef.”

 _Hope._ It settles in her ears. Cure. Hope. Such small words that are so powerful and mighty. The four letter words always seem to be the strongest. Hope. Hate. Need. Want. Love.

“Not yet,” Tifa says, shaking her head. “I need to talk with Rufus, first. I need to see if it can be something for cancer. My dad is stage three. Pancreatic is too aggressive. It’s going to travel. The survival rate is eight percent. _Eight._ ” She takes another breath, and it shakes in her lungs. “I can’t hope. Not yet.”

Yuffie’s lips thin, and she nods her head, crossing her arms over her chest. “Yeah. I understand, Tifa.”

She turns to the mirror to face herself. Her eyes are bloodshot but otherwise fine. Her hand has stopped bleeding. Her heart has slowed a little, enough to keep her body from shaking.

“Okay. I’ll go wait in the line that I’m sure has formed in front of Rufus.”

Yuffie pushes off the wall. “Did Cloud not tell you? Or warn you?”

Tifa pauses in front of the door. “No. He couldn’t tell me. It was part of his business deal.”

Yuffie raspberries. “Business deal? Really? He keeps this information from you as part of a _business deal_ , and yet he fucks you because he’s CEO and thinks he’s better than everyone?”

Tifa stills, shaking her head. “No. That’s not it, Yuffie.”

“It sure sounds like it,” she grumbles.

“He told me he couldn’t tell me. He told me to trust him,” Tifa says, explaining to Yuffie as much as she is to herself. She understands it. If she was in Cloud’s position, what would she have done?

“If he cared about you, don’t you think he would have broke the rules to tell you?” Yuffie asks. “I would have told you. Hell, I would have put your dad at the top of the list for trials! I would have started him on the trial without giving a flying fuck about my job!”

“Yuffie…” she starts. “It’s not like we…it’s not like we’re…”

She sighs. “Yeah. I know. I’m sorry, I’m just…boys. Boys make me _so mad._ They are _stupid,_ and they lack _foresight,_ and they tell you they love you when they don’t even know what that means! _”_

Tifa smiles a little. She glances at Yuffie, who’s lips are turned in a snarl.

“They might not know what it means, but I do. And I love you, Yuffie.”

“I love you, too, Tifa,” Yuffie says, stepping up to her. She wraps her arms around her waist from behind. “I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”

“Thanks.” She squeezes her arms. “I’m going to go talk to Rufus. You go back to Vincent. Keep making Reno jealous. I can take it from here.”

“Okay,” she mumbles against her neck. “Go get ‘em.”

Yuffie steps forward and slips out the door. Tifa inhales and follows behind her. As they get to the opening leading into the main room, Cloud is leaning against the wall. He pushes off when he sees them.

“Tifa—“ he starts, interrupted by Yuffie.

“Cloud Strife,” she says, stepping in front of him. “I don’t care how good you are in bed. You’re on my shit list. If you hurt her, I will sterilize you. Mark my words.” She points at her eyeballs then points at him as she flounces past. Cloud watches her, seemingly struck.

He turns back to Tifa, his mouth partly open. He seems to come back to his senses as he looks over her.

“Tifa…I…”

Tifa shakes her head. “Don’t listen to her. Well, I guess, yes, listen to her. But it’s okay. She’s overprotective of me, that’s all.”

Cloud frowns, standing in front of her.

“I’m glad she is. Tifa, when you told me about your dad—“

Tifa raises a hand. “I understand, Cloud. I don’t think I could have told you either.”

He shakes his head. “I wasn’t sure if it would work. Cancer is different than wounds. Different than nerves. I didn’t want to give you something—“ he pauses, interrupting himself. “I didn’t want to give you…another disappointment.”

His words hit her with a tender punch. Hope is a cruel thing. Disappointment is even worse. They both know it intimately.

Deep down, Tifa almost hates this. She has been so close to accepting her father’s death. She was going to give it one more chance. She was going to visit him after the merger and tell him how much she loved him and how she could almost understand his oceanic, unending love for her mother, and how much it terrified her. She was going to tell him how she’s been wasting all of her time during this merger with a boy, falling in love when she should have been by her father’s side, believing in the extraordinary even if the extraordinary doesn’t exist.

“Thanks, Cloud. I understand that. I really do.” She glances around him, seeing there are not many heckling Rufus. In fact, most of the employees are in their cups or their hors d’oeuvres, laughing and smiling. “But right now, I have to talk to Rufus.”

She goes to move around him, but Cloud blocks her path.

“Tifa—“

She frowns at him. “Cloud, what are you…”

He hesitates, and the uncertainty is back in his eyes. Tifa had thought the anxiety was gone, the curl of it dispersing after cleaning her hand in the bathroom. But at his look, it’s back. It hits her with a deeper, closer intimacy than before.

“Sorry,” he says, stepping to the side. He grimaces and averts his eyes. “Go ahead.”

Tifa gazes at him for a moment, then she steps forward and walks into the flawless palm of the room.

When she walks closer to Rufus, he notices her quickly. He looks up to smile at her, his eyes hovering over her lines. Any other time, she might feel uncomfortable, but his opinion over her attire is the last thing on her mind.

“Mr. Shinra,” she says. “I’d like to speak with you.”

“Oh, Ms. Lockhart. You look as beautiful as ever,” he says, smirking. “I admit, I’ve been thinking about what you were going to wear, tonight. It’s much more gorgeous than I was expecting.” His eyes roam over her, and Tifa maintains a staid smile.

“Thank you,” she says. “I was hoping I would be able to talk to you about suggesting an individual for clinical trials.”

Rufus raises his eyebrows. “Which individual?”

Tifa swallows. “My father.”

Rufus doesn’t react like she thinks he should. His eyes don’t widen. His lips don’t frown. He merely looks at her. Then, his eyes glance off to the side and recognition passes over him.

“Oh, I see,” he says, bringing a hand up to his hair. To Tifa’s surprise, he begins laughing. Shaking his head, he says, “Gaia, he didn’t tell you, did he?”

A flutter of ice hits her neck. “What?”

“Hopeless,” Rufus sighs. “I knew Strife was a goddamn idiot, but I didn’t know the extent.” He reaches forward and gently takes Tifa’s hand in both of his own. “Tifa. May I call you Tifa?” he asks, but he doesn’t wait for her to respond. “Your father—“

“Tifa,” another voice interrupts. Tifa startles, looking up to her right to see Cloud making his way to them. His eyes catch on Rufus’ hands around her own, and his jaw is already clenched. “I told you I’d explain after the announcement. Let me,” he says, directing his last words to Rufus.

Rufus smirks. “I can still hold her hand, can’t I?”

Annoyed and impatient, Tifa snatches her hand out from his. She gives him a glare, then she turns it on Cloud. She is abruptly angry at both of them—at Rufus, for being so blatantly flirtatious and smug and acting like he can touch her however he wants, and Cloud, for looking hesitant and hiding from her even now. The hesitancy in his eyes pokes at her like a cattle prod, and there is something else there, too. Sympathy. Regret. 

“What about my father?” she asks, feeling the emotions climb up her throat like a ladder.

“Tifa…” Cloud says, hesitating once more before he continues. “I…I went to the materia plant this week, but I also went to Nibelheim.”

Tifa blinks at the admission. Her anger bleaches out of her, shock taking its place. “You did?”

Cloud’s face hardens. “I went to see your father. I wanted him to know about the trial—“

A fist clenches in Tifa’s stomach.

“You…” she tries.

“I couldn’t tell you, and I’m sorry,” he says, quickly. “I should have told you before I went. I should have let you know, but I knew how much it weighed on you, and I…I was afraid. I was afraid to tell you. I had to abide by the contract, but...” He glances away toward the floor, but Tifa’s eyes are unfocusing. “That shouldn’t have mattered. It was stupid of me.”

Rufus shifts, crossing his arms. “Here I thought you’d actually be _smart_ about this one, Strife.”

Tifa stares blankly at Cloud’s tie. “But my father…what happened?” She looks up and catches Cloud’s eyes. “What did he do? What did he say?”

At the look on Cloud’s face, Tifa knows immediately. A gut reaction. The anxiety. The finger on her spine.

 _Intuition,_ her mother used to say. _It’s inside all of us. It’s our superpower_. Tifa can see her mother’s smile. She can feel her mother’s finger tapping her sternum. _You’ll understand when you’re older, sweetie._

Why is she thinking about her now? she wonders absently, amidst all the spinning thoughts. _Why now?_ Her mother who is dead and gone and buried underneath the sediment and rocks of the earth. Far away.

So very far away.

“He said no,” Tifa whispers. She had known it instinctively, that intuition prickling through her. Even when she began to hope, she had known.Even with a miracle found in the underbelly of the earth, a magic spell, a flick of a witch’s nose, a fragment from a shooting star. Her father was never going to say yes. He was never going to allow himself to live.

_Maybe life will begin to fulfill your dreams instead of breaking them._

It’s silly to think about that, now. Silly to think she still had that kind of hope when everything inside of her told her otherwise.

She feels the emotions swirling against her. She’s neglected her father. How could she do that? How could she continue on with her life when his was ticking away so feverishly? When she knew any day, at any moment, at any second, she could receive the phone call that would fill the cup of her despair, and bloom the flower of her fears?

She stares at Cloud. He had asked her to trust him, and she does, still, so completely. It doesn’t matter that he didn’t tell her—because he tried to protect her from disappointment and anger and sadness and all those ugly emotions. She just hadn’t realized it was herself she couldn’t trust, not when she had decided to spend so much time with Cloud instead of her own flesh and blood. Not when she could have worked remotely from Nibelheim—she’s certain she could have asked Reeve at the beginning. He would have let her. She could have finished the projects and left early.

She could have if she really wanted to. If she wasn’t so… _afraid._

_It isn’t the length of life. It’s the depth._

“I need to go home,” she says, surprised when her voice doesn’t waver. “I need to see him.”

Cloud stares at her for a moment before nodding. “I can—“

“Mr. Shinra!”

Tifa jolts. Her fear and anger and sudden determination all coil up inside of her at the voice. Scarlet steps up to her left side, so close Tifa can smell her perfume. It is sweet and sickly, and if poison had a smell, it’d be bottled from her pores.

“Ah, Ms. Dagger. Wonderful to see you,” Rufus greets, an easy smile appearing on his face. His eyes catch on her chest, lingering for a moment too long. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”

“I couldn’t help but see my ex-boss standing with another esteemed employee, and I had to join in this conversation.” Scarlet smiles, and all Tifa can see is the gurgling of blood around her lips, the color of her lipstick so severe and menacing. “Oh, forgive me, I’ve probably had too much to drink,” she says, beginning to laugh. “I just…don’t these two look so _cute_ together?”

She eyeballs Cloud and Tifa, then lolls her head back to Rufus. Rufus seems to be amused, looking between all three of them.

“Scarlet…” Cloud trails, his voice low and threatening. “What do you want?”

“Oh, Mr. Strife! I was just…I mean, surely I’m not the only one to have noticed the chemistry between you two?” She turns and winks at Rufus. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think they were giving each other favors _under the table._ Wouldn’t you say so, Mr. Shinra?”

Tifa stares at Scarlet, and her smile only seems to grow. Tifa can feel her cheeks heating up like tea kettles. One of her hands begins to tighten in a fist along her side.

Rufus laughs loudly. “Oh, I’m sure Mr. Strife wouldn’t mind that.” Rufus smiles at Cloud’s reddening face. “But I’m afraid he’s already disclosed all pertinent information to me.”

One of Scarlet’s brows raise. The arch of it is so steep, it reminds Tifa of Mt. Nibel’s peak. “Oh, all pertinent information, has he?”

“All information that he _deemed_ to tell me, yes,” Rufus says, daring to give her a salacious smirk.

Tifa’s heart pounds harder and harder. She continues staring at that one eyebrow, Scarlet’s side profile encompassing Tifa’s entire view.

Scarlet turns and locks eyes with Tifa. Her lips twist, and she doesn’t look away when she says, “Well, I can tell you that I’ve seen Ms. Lockhart leave Mr. Strife’s office rumpled and breathless. Multiple times, in fact.” She grins. “I don’t want to be so crude as to say they’ve been _fucking_ each other, but if you ask security about a couple having sex in an elevator this past month, I think you’d know I was telling the truth.”

A hum courses over Tifa’s skin at the words. Scarlet stares at her, her teeth white and sharp and victorious. They shine under the chandeliers like the sun reflecting off a mirror. Tifa wants to wince and look away, but she’d rather be blinded, because she knows—as childish as it is, she _knows_ —if she looks away, it’ll all be over. Scarlet will win and laugh a braying, screeching laugh.

Just the thought of it makes Tifa’s heart feel like a ticking bomb, the fuse licked with fire, waiting and waiting for the trigger.

Because her father refused treatment. He refused it, and isn’t he so selfish? Tifa has been wasting time with Cloud, away from him and his cancer, and that makes her just as selfish as her father.

Her mother tapped her chest tonight, reminding her of her lingering wisdom, her smile and strength. The parts of her mother that remain inside of her, no matter how far away she is.

She thinks about the glass breaking in her hand, and how she still can’t feel the cuts along the creases of her fingers.

She thinks about Cure and how it might work, but how it doesn’t even _fucking matter._

“Ah…really?” Rufus drawls. His tone sounds intrigued and enlightened, but Tifa doesn’t care about him. She doesn’t care about the other employees. She doesn’t even care that Cloud is somewhere behind her.

All she can see is Scarlet’s red lips and her black lined eyes and her overarching eyebrows, and she is _angry._ She is so _angry_ about this _entire evening,_ because how could the world dangle so much hope and snatch it away so quickly without one remorseful blink?

“Once a whore…” Scarlet says.

The fuse lights. Tifa raises her cut hand, palm open, and she swings it around. It slams into Scarlet’s cheek with a resounding _smack._

Scarlet loses her balance, forced to take a few steps to regain her composure. Her mouth is open in a static gasp, her hand coming up to her swelling, darkened pink cheek. Tifa spies a few smudges of red, and it must be blood, but she doesn’t know if it’s Scarlet’s or her own. Scarlet whips her head up, her eyes bulbous and stunned.

“I’m _sick_ of you harassing me. And I’m _sick_ of tonight. I’m sick of _all of this,”_ Tifa breathes, the words scraping against her throat. She turns her head to Rufus, who is looking at her how he should have looked at her earlier. His eyebrows are raised, his lips are parted. His bright eyes are wide in their sockets. He looks as shocked as she’s ever seen him, and in hindsight, probably more shocked than he’s ever allowed himself to be in front of employees.

“Fire me if you want,” she says. “I need to go home.”

She turns on her heel, blinded by sudden, immediate, abrupt purpose. Her hand is already plunging into her thin purse, her strides moving through the room and side stepping the drunken crowd.

A hand lands on her shoulder, stopping her.

“Tifa,” Cloud says, his voice strained. “Wait, you—“

Tifa startles, turning to face him. “Cloud, I’m sorry, I need to—“

“Go home. I know,” he says, and his face is hardened. “I can drive you.”

Tifa opens her mouth. “Drive? No. I’m…I’m going to take the train.”

His eyebrows pinch. “But—“

“Listen, Cloud, you’ve done enough,” she says, and it surprises her. It almost sounds like she _snaps._ She glances away from him, unable to take the widening of his eyes. Her emotions are bleeding into everything and everyone. “Thank you for trying. Thank you for giving my father that chance, but now…” she shakes her head, turning away from him again. “I have to do this on my own. I have to be alone.”

“I…yeah,” he says. “Okay. If…I’ll be here if you need anything.”

She glances over her shoulder at him. The shine of the lights hits his face, and it is golden and sad and regretful and full of hope. Always the hope, she thinks. And she hopes it stays.

“Okay,” she says, and she turns, making it to the entrance while tapping her dad’s number on her phone. She places it against her ear, needing more than anything else to hear his voice.

It rings. It rings and rings.

When it stops ringing and goes to voicemail, Tifa’s eyes begin to fog with tears. Her dad always picks up. Why tonight, of all nights, is he not?

The dark pinch of intuition flutters around her like a shawl. She leaves a clipped message at the prompt for the voicemail.

“Hey dad. It’s me. Call me back.”

She calls again and again.

Her dad never picks up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "It is not the length of life, it is the depth."  
> -Ralph Waldo Emerson


	15. XV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look, I've done it again and have been terrible at responding. Everyone is so lovely, and I thank you so, so much for the comments and thoughts. Thank you all for the support. ❤️ I have no words for how wonderful everyone has been. 
> 
> Special thanks to [kotaface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aveyune23/pseuds/kotaface), because she is one of the greatest, most supportive humans I've ever met. ❤️
> 
> Also special thanks to [SassyUnicorn7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyUnicorn7/pseuds/SassyUnicorn7) for being so generous with her time, loving me well, and making me believe I have the ability to write _better_. Thank you for everything. ❤️

Yuffie finds Tifa against the wall of the Shinra Convention Center. Tifa can’t seem to stop staring at her phone, even with her vision blurred and teary. She wipes at her eyes, and she feels the clumping and smudging of mascara against her eyelids.

“Tifa!” Yuffie exclaims, coming up beside her. “What’s wrong? What’s happened? What did dickface Rufus say? What did _Strife_ say? I saw you smack that Scarlet bitch in the fucking _face,_ and…” she trails, stopping her splutter of words as Tifa catches her gaze. Tifa is startled to see Vincent standing behind her, shifting his weight. He seems out of place. He glances away and looks at his watch before averting his stare to the sidewalk. 

Tifa takes a shaky breath. “My dad…” Her face crumples, and she turns it away from Yuffie, hating how hard it is for the words to come out of her mouth. “My dad, um…won’t answer.”

Yuffie gently grabs Tifa’s arm. “Tifa…”

“He—refused treatment,” Tifa says, words broken and stilted. “And now, he—he won’t—pick up—and I—“ 

Her voice hiccups, and the tears fall faster. Tifa shakes her head and holds in a sob, swallowing it down. There’s a pressure forming behind her skull, all the sadness and anger pulsating in her throat. A headache is already beginning, and Tifa squeezes her eyes shut. 

“I’m—calling a cab,” she gasps, reaching her hands up to hide her face. “I need—to go.”

Yuffie places her hands on Tifa’s shoulders. “No, you are _not_ calling a cab. Are you kidding me? We’ll take you home.”

Tifa shakes her head. “No, I—need to go see my—dad,” she stutters. “I’m taking the—train.”

Yuffie’s eyebrows pinch, concern and uncertainty bordering her eyes. Then determinedly, she nods. “Okay. Vincent drove here. We’ll take you home and I’ll order the tickets.”

At that, Vincent straightens. “What…?”

“We’re using your car,” Yuffie says, her voice hardened and severe. She turns to give Vincent a glare. “No buts about it. I don’t care how expensive it is.”

“That wasn’t what I meant…” Vincent’s low, chilled voice begins before it stops, and Tifa hears his footsteps as he walks toward the parking garage. 

“Don’t worry, Tifa,” Yuffie says, cradling her against her small frame. Tifa slowly allows her hands to come around her in a hug. Her face is snotty and her breaths are still hiccuping and embarrassing, but she’s never felt so much comfort from her friend as she has at this moment in time. “We’ll get you home.”

* * *

The first ride available is 4:00 am the next morning. It’s eight long, dreary hours. Even on the high speed train, the journey is deterred by multiple stops—Costa del Sol, Corel, Rocket Town, and finally Nibelheim. The change in terrain and atmosphere gives minimal distraction, and Tifa tries to keep her mind blank from worry. 

It’s impossible. She clutches her phone close, occasionally lighting up the home screen just in case she somehow missed a phone call or notification. She attempts to call her dad one more time when she reaches Costa del Sol, but it nearly breaks her again when he doesn’t answer. She wishes she had his assistant’s number. Maybe he would give her information about her dad. Surely, if it was dire, someone would have notified her by now. She’s his emergency contact on all the medical forms. She’s his only living relative. 

She feels too sick the entire journey to eat anything. The nausea and anxiety come and go in waves. She pushes her head back into the seat and closes her eyes, takes calming breaths that do nothing to relax her. She dozes in restless exhaustion, only to wake up every few minutes, jolting and remembering where she is and where she’s going.

She thinks about texting Cloud as each of the hours trickle past. She thinks about his sorrowful gaze as she left him behind. What would have happened if she let him take her home? If he drove her back to Nibelheim, instead? She wonders about it, imagining herself sitting in the passenger seat of his car, burning up with worry and him beside her, attempting to soothe the ache with his cool and calm stare, his voice a mild reprieve. She wonders if it would have given her comfort, if she held his hand on the stick shift, if she caught his eye between the minutes on the road, clutching her phone in her other hand.

There are still three more hours of driving. Tifa sighs as she opens up her phone and sends a text to Cloud. 

**Tifa:** _Hey._

He responds so quickly, Tifa startles.

**Cloud:** _Hey._

**Cloud:** _Get a train ride okay?_

**Tifa:** _Yeah. The earliest was 4:00 am. Three more hours until I get there._

**Cloud:** _Good._

**Cloud:** _I’m sorry. I should have told you._

Tifa stares at his words. She frowns and leans her head against the window. Her knee-jerk reaction is to answer, _it’s okay._ Her first responses have always been that way—to assuage guilt or brighten black, heavy feelings. With Cloud, it’s no different. It’s even more prominent than ever. 

Tifa holds back. This is more personal. The most personal it has ever been. 

Eventually, she types out her reply.

**Tifa:** _I don’t know what I would have done had you told me. Maybe this was for the best._

**Cloud:** _I hope you can forgive me. I understand if you can’t._

Tifa’s eyes pinch, and she’s too full of so many emotions, she can’t help the tears that line her vision.

**Tifa:** _But I get it. You tried to protect me. You tried, even when you didn’t need to. That’s more than what so many others would have done, and I thank you for that._

**Cloud:** _Let me know if you need anything else. Text. Call. Anything._

Tifa wipes at her eyes, sniffling. 

**Tifa:** _Thanks. I will._

**Tifa:** _Actually, I wish I could be distracted. I feel stuck in a limbo._

It takes a few long minutes for Cloud to respond. When he does, it isn’t what Tifa is expecting.

**Cloud:** _Can I call you?_

Tifa eyes the black text for a moment, her mind darting back to the image she thought about an hour ago—of sitting beside him in his car in the passenger seat, listening to the low tone of his voice. 

**Tifa:** _Yes._

Her phone buzzes a moment after she sends her text, Cloud’s name emblazoned across the screen. It takes her another second before she answers, putting the phone up to her ear. 

“Hi,” she says softly.

“Hey,” he says. “I really don’t…have anything to say, I just…”

“That’s okay,” she says. “We don’t have to say anything.” She pauses. “It’s, um…nice to have the option to talk.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Wasn’t sure how else to distract you.”

She lays her head against her seat, looking out the window. “Are you at work?”

“I am. We aren’t doing much. Rebooting systems. Making sure everyone knows what the hell they’re supposed to do. That kind of thing.”

Tifa cracks the first small smile she’s had ever since the merger ceremony, when Barret ruined their moment. “Sounds exciting.”

“It’s fascinating,” he says, sarcasm bleeding through the phone. “Where are you, now?”

“In between Costa del Sol and Rocket Town. I can still see the ocean.”

“Have you ever been to Costa del Sol?” he asks. 

Tifa flips through her memory. “Once. I was really small. It was a family vacation.”

Her mom had still been alive, then. She remembers running across the beach, the sand gritty between her toes and her attention caught on a dead jellyfish that had washed ashore. She went to pick it up, captivated by the shine of its body. Tifa remembers her mother shouting for her to stop before she could hurt herself. 

“It’s just a pile of goo!” Tifa had shouted back, staring at the gray and purple mass, so squiggly in its lines yet so vivacious and bright, even without a soul. Her mother had scooped her up into her arms and scolded her, diverting her attention to other mundane secrets of the beach, like sand dollars and how to find crabs that had burrowed along the line of the shore. Strangely, Tifa remembers looking back at that jellyfish, occasionally, thinking about its beauty and wondering how it would have felt between her fingers.

“What about you?” she asks him. “Have you been?”

“I’ve only driven through. I’ve never been for a real visit.”

“Sounds like we’re both overdue,” she says, watching the landscape speed by. It’s a blur of green and brown, mountainous crags and a sleepy blue sky.

“Maybe we can go together,” he says.

“I wouldn’t mind traveling. Especially now that you’re beginning the new department.”

“It will be a lot of travel. That’s…part of the reason why I took the position.”

Tifa frowns against the window. “Is it what you wanted? I know you said it was last night, but…”

“It is. I needed a change. I spent the last few months figuring out what I wanted for myself.” There’s a long pause after his response, and she hears him softly sigh. “I didn’t want to give up my position at first. I didn’t think I could work for someone like Rufus after…after knowing what it’s like to be my own boss.”

Tifa runs her fingers over her lap, curling the end of her shirt. 

“But I think the end goal with this…it’ll be worth it. The medication. Helping people. I think I can handle Rufus for that.”

Tifa imagines Cloud’s face, lined with determination and surety. She knows the exact face he’s making with the tone of his words. 

“Plus, I’d…” he continues. “I’d, uh…”

She hears him scoff. She tightens the hold on her shirt. 

“What is it, Cloud?”

“I’d be…fulfilling what I want.” There’s a brief pause, but before Tifa can say anything, he says, “I’ll be moving my stuff to another office space. I’ll still be in the same building with you.”

At that, Tifa lets go of her shirt and sits up in her seat. “You will?”

“Yeah. Won’t be the top floor, but that’s alright.”

Tifa smiles. “We’ll still be close.”

“I hope you don’t mind.”

Tifa rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Of course I won’t mind.” After a moment, her smile begins to fall. “Just as long as…after this…I don’t know how I’ll be.”

She’s not sure how to explain it. If it’s the worst case—she’s not sure about her heart. She doesn’t know what state it will be in or how it will remain. She doesn’t know if she can persevere. She’s not sure what she’ll do or what she can handle. 

She hates not knowing, and she hates being unable to prepare, but she can’t think about the what ifs. Not right now. So she tells herself not to dwell on it. Instead, she lets herself be distracted by her anxiety, letting it fill her up to the edge. It shrouds her mind and her logic like thick fog, unable to allow clarity in her thoughts. Yet, behind the veil of it all, there continues to be a glimmer of hope. That hazy, undying beam of light, even when the world tries to suck it out of you, even as despair drains the dregs of your soul. Even then.

Because when there’s nothing left, what else is there to do?

“No matter what happens, Tifa,” Cloud says, his voice hushed and quiet. “I’ll be there.”

She’s not sure what makes her ask it. Perhaps it’s because, as close as his voice is inside of her ear, he still manages to sound so far away.

“Promise?”

He answers with easy immediacy.

“I promise.”

* * *

Tifa arrives in Nibelheim at noon. 

It looks just as she’d left it. From its quaint neighborhoods to the rustic blocks of downtown, to the taller, busier buildings in the middle avenues of the town. Where Midgar is tinted in cold steels, blues, and cooler shades of gray, Nibelheim is dusky, dusty, stained with warmth and suburbia, open fields and pastures. While its population is smaller than Midgar, it is still nothing to sneeze at in terms of size density—but it somehow maintains a solitude and slowness. Nobody rushes to where they need to go. They walk with lazy swagger. There is muted purpose in their steps, easy smiles on their faces, and courtesy between passersby on the sidewalks. There are simple hellos and a balance of polite nods and waves between strangers.

_Welcome to the Friendliest Town on the Western Continent!_ Those words label the entering billboard. _You’re going the wrong way!_ Says the billboard 10 miles outside of town. 

Compared to Midgar, this place feels endlessly homey and secure. What it lacks in technological advances it makes up for in complacency and contentment. In the past, Tifa could see why her parents chose this place for her to grow up. It was big enough—but not too big. It was competitive enough, nice enough, good enough. Conservative enough, nothing too radical to give her _ideas._ It was safe enough. It was simple. 

It was _enough_ of a place, but it was just enough to make her wonder about what else was out there. Surely, the world was not only made up of gentle smiles and anecdotal stories and climbing the business ladder until she became mayor and had nothing else to do or accomplish. It always seemed to whet her hunger for something that wasn’t _good_ or _simple_ or _nice._

She wanted greatness. She wanted an unidentifiable _something._ Something out of her reach—something that required her to outstretch her arms and leap and scrape her knees and try harder than she’s ever had to try in order to accomplish it. 

Her dad had called it a college degree. Tifa had laughed and asked him to go with her. 

“The town needs me to keep it running,” he told her. It was his favorite excuse, and it persisted against the true test of time. 

Tifa walks toward her neighborhood, breathing in the heat reflected on the sidewalk by the midday sun. She sees Mrs. Wilkin’s hedges, as straight and perfect as ever. She sees the pothole in the street that _still_ hasn’t been fixed, no matter how many complaints have been issued to her father’s office. 

She treks by the old-now-newly refurbished playground, the sight containing shiny, plastic seats on the swing set, lightly scuffed steps on the kid mountain, swirling and twisting slides that will burn the skin off your legs if you’re wearing shorts. 

It doesn’t take her long to arrive at her house. By first glance, she can already tell it’s unoccupied, but she takes out her key to unlock the front door and steps inside on the off-chance that her father is resting or took a mental health day or has done anything other than what she believes. 

The house is still and quiet. All the lights are off, only highlighted with the natural sunlight streaming through the curtained windows. Tifa runs up and calls for her father, but his bedroom is empty when she opens the door. She turns and hustles up the stairs and down the hallway to her old room, just in case, and finds it like she findsthe bathrooms and the guest room **,** too: vacant and dark. 

She hurriedly goes to her father’s home office and finds Dyne’s phone number—her father’s assistant. He’s the closest thing to a family here for her dad, and Tifa smashes the numbers into her phone. She listens to the dial tone and is angry that she had never thought to get his number in the first place. 

“Hi, this is Dyne Otting—“

“Dyne, this is Tifa,” she interrupts, her eyes already flooding with tears. “Where is my father?”

“T-Tifa, oh,” he stutters. “How did you get my—“

“Dyne,” Tifa says, her teeth gritting. “I’m in Nibelheim at my _house._ Where is he?”

“I…he didn’t…” he tries before sighing. “I’m sorry. He didn’t want me to call you. He didn’t want you to worry.”

Tifa takes the phone away from her ear for a moment, wanting to scream but unable to form the breath strong enough for it. 

“Does that mean—is he okay? Is he—is he okay?” she says quickly, her stomach churning. “Tell me he’s okay.”

“He’s…okay,” Dyne says, hesitating. “He’s sleeping. Had a bad turn last night, but he’s stable.”

Tifa’s legs are shaking. She realizes this as she crumples to the floor. Her heart is ricocheting behind her sternum, and she blinks away her dizziness. 

“He’s okay,” she repeats. _Are you sure?_ She wants to ask. _He hasn’t left me? This isn’t what he wanted you to tell me? To lie to protect me?_

It strikes Tifa that she’s suddenly surrounded by two men who try to protect her. They try when she doesn’t need it _or_ want it. She had snapped at Cloud last night, and perhaps that’s partly why she had been so angry. It is something that her father would have done, and what her father’s doing right now. Trying to protect her from what? His eventual, inevitable death? And why? What gives him the right when he’s been dying for so long and has rejected every invitation to live closer to her? To be _with_ her?

Because he _loves_ _her?_

She gasps, two tears falling down her cheeks. “What room?”

“Tifa—“

“What fucking _room,_ Dyne?” she snaps, smashing the receiver of her phone into her ear.

“327,” he eventually answers. “But Tifa, your dad—“

She hangs up. She folds over for a moment, heaving in a handful of deep breaths before she wipes her eyes and stands. She squeezes her hands into fists at her sides, one wrapped around her phone. She regains her bearings for a second, then two, and her eyes come upon the picture standing on her father’s desk. 

It is the same picture she has on her own work desk. It is of her and her father grinning brightly into the camera, the light wash of December behind them in fluffs of white, pristine snow. They have their arms wrapped around their sides, and it is before his diagnosis when they were both full of life and as happy as they could have been.

The hope swells behind her sternum again, stupid, blazing, ridiculous, endless, and hot, like a raging forest fire. 

Because once, before Tifa left to take her job, that picture frame had been filled with a photo of her mother. 

* * *

_327._ The number swivels around and around her mind as she smashes the _3_ inside the elevator, willing it to go faster. 

_Please be real,_ she thinks. _Please, please be real._

She nearly sprints out of the elevator when the doors slide open. She follows the arrows on the signs for rooms 320 and up, walking so quickly she has to jerk her body to a stop when she comes upon _327._

She inhales a deep, shaky breath. She steadies her feet. She thinks about the forms she practices for Zangan’s training. They are as strong and graceful as the curling, sprawling branches of an oak tree. They are full of long lines and deeply rooted feet. She expels her breath, squares her shoulders and gently knocks on the door before stepping through the threshold. 

Dyne immediately stands up from his perch on the chair on the other side of the hospital bed. Tifa’s eyes catch onto it, and she sees her dad’s form bundled underneath the thin, cheap blankets. There is an IV line attached to his hand, and an oxygen saturation monitor clipped to one of his fingers. His heart beeps on the machine mounted on the wall, his well-being framed and described with numbers—heart rate, blood pressure, how much oxygen fills his lungs. His heart monitor shows the steady spikes of its rhythm, colored black and green against an electronic grid. It’s a wonder how one place can minimize the depth of life, with all its memories and future potential, into sterile coloring and antiseptic. 

“Oh, Daddy,” she whispers, hurrying to his side. The tears come back, pricking behind her eyes. She grips the rail of the hospital bed, absurdly afraid to touch his skin. It might be cold, and it might feel clammy and deadened, no matter what the monitors say. His face is pale and ashen, lacking the normally gentle flush that lingers in his cheeks, pushed up with his gregarious smiles. 

“Tifa,” Dyne starts, coming forward. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to—“

“What?” she says, cutting her eyes up to him for a moment before turning them back to her dad. “You didn’t want to call me because you respect my father? Or because you want to ensure you become mayor once he passes?”

Dyne nearly flinches. He slowly places his hands in his pockets. “Tifa…”

Tifa bites the inside of her cheek, closing her eyes and turning her head. “I…forgive me. I didn’t mean that.”

Dyne gives a wry smile. “Yes, you did. But you’re right. I should have called you.”

“I’m his emergency contact. The hospital should have called me,” she says, staring at her dad. 

Dyne looks at the floor. “Your dad changed it to me about three months ago.”

Tifa nearly chokes, whipping her head up to him. “What?”

Dyne has the decency to look abashed and ashamed. “Your father had good intentions, Tifa. He wanted this to be as painless for you as possible.”

Tifa stares at him. A laugh bursts from her throat after a pause. 

“Painless? You think any of this has been painless?” She spreads out her arms, and she feels her body beginning to shake again. “This will never be painless. In fact, the mere thought of my father removing me from being his contact is—“ she stops, holding back a sudden sob. She turns her head away, looking back down at her father. “I can’t believe him. Painless, dad? You really thought that?”

“I’m sorry, Tifa,” Dyne says again, and it sounds as though he is uncertain about anything else to say. “Like I said, he had good intentions—“

“Intentions are just that. They hardly end up any _good,”_ Tifa says softly, finally daring to touch her father’s hand. It is chilled from the fluid of the IV. It is cold, but it is dry and textured just as she remembers. It makes her breathe a little easier. 

“Whatever else you think, he loves you,” Dyne says, frowning. “Even if you think his choices are misguided.”

_Misguided._ Tifa smiles wryly. For being a mayor, her father certainly has a diminished view on how to communicate his love. 

Maybe that’s the thing, too. There isn’t a right way. There are only different ways—actions, words, the combination of the two. She sighs, squeezing his hand. 

“Has he woken up at all?” she asks.

“Once, after they stabilized him. We forced him to eat some pudding, then he went back to sleep. He’s been sleeping since.”

Tifa pulls up one of the two chairs in the room, bringing it closer to his side and taking a seat. She stares at his sunken cheeks and thinning neck, and a swirl of malicious thoughts run through her mind. It is so unlike her—she never feels this way. She’s never taken over by thoughts that are this disruptive or this mean. 

“Did my dad tell you about…” she tries, taking a breath. “About the clinical trial?”

Dyne bobs his head. “Briefly.”

“Did you two discuss it?”

Tifa catches Dyne’s eye, and he straightens in his seat. He blinks.

“We…yes. A bit.” 

“What did he say?” she asks. Half of her wonders if Dyne will answer truthfully. He is good at evading transparency. Tifa’s father used to joke about the difficulty when he first took office—filled with half-truths and dreams with what he wanted to accomplish, and the reality of what he actually could. Dyne is no different. He might even be a better politician than her father, because he’s younger and hungrier and more heavily ambitious. 

“He said…” Dyne trails. “We both know he hasn’t been in a right state of mind for a while, Tifa.”

Tifa knows that. She also knows that her father had made his own mind up, without needing the encouragement of anyone else, but…

She still hates it. She still hates that she can’t be enough for him. As relieved as she is that he is still breathing and alive, she continues to be angry and sad, with the tears boiling behind her eyes in a red rush of feeling. 

“It didn’t help that it was your boss who offered it,” Dyne says. “You know your father hates him, with everything he’s put you through.”

Her breath catches, and she whips her head up to Dyne. 

“What?”

Dyne raises a brow. “Did you not know it was Mr. Strife who came to Brian’s office? He introduced himself, and Brian shut him down almost immediately. You know how protective your father is of you. He cut him down into shreds. Poor bloke could barely get out the information without Brian interrupting him every few words.”

Tifa’s hands curl together. She hadn’t thought about that. She hadn’t even thought to ask Cloud how the conversation went. And Cloud didn’t have the chance to explain to her before she ran out the door.

“Brian was never going to consent to a treatment offered by the man who’s made your life a living hell this year, Tifa. We both knew that.”

A tear falls down her cheek. Tifa wipes it away. 

“R-right,” she says. “Of course he wouldn’t.”

“Your father and I thought it was a sham. Shinra’s bad enough, but to go through a merger with that company? They are going to monopolize the big cities.” Dyne sighs, shaking his head. “Mr. Strife left a video of its effects on a dying dragon, in the plains outside of Midgar. Seemed almost a miracle. Neither of us really believed it, though. We’ve seen a lot of things, but this one was too good to be true.”

_Yes,_ she thinks. _Too good to be true._

She understands that. She forces a sob down into the back of her throat. She reaches out a hand to push back a lock of hair from her dad’s forehead. 

“Thanks for telling me, Dyne,” Tifa says, voice tremulous. “I’m sure it was a shock to have Cloud Strife visit out of the blue and offer an experimental cure for dad’s cancer.” She nearly laughs. “I wouldn’t have believed it, either.”

Dyne shakes his head, his eyes going to her father’s face. For the first time, she sees remorse on his face, settling in the deep lines around his mouth. His eyes soften. 

“Do you think it could work?” he asks her.

Cloud’s face appears in her mind’s eye. She hears the gentle timbre of his voice. She remembers how the sunlight hit his face when he told her about his own father, and if only he could have just been _enough._

“Yes,” Tifa says. Her voice is clear, though the fog of tears remains in her eyes. “I know it could work if given the chance.”

Dyne nods slowly, rubbing his hand over his cleanly shaven jaw. They sit in silent contemplation until, eventually, Dyne excuses himself, needing to attend to business matters. Tifa promises to keep him updated in the interim. 

When Tifa is finally, blessedly alone with her dad, she lowers the railing on the hospital bed. She carefully arranges the wires and the IV, avoiding their obstruction. She climbs beside him, nestling delicately into his side. She places her head on his chest, and she hears his heartbeat matching the machine above them. Her eyes are too exhausted for anymore tears. Instead, she closes them, lulled by his slow, steady breathing.

It doesn’t take long before she’s fast asleep. 

* * *

She awakens to her dad’s coughing. She jerks, sitting up, and watches her dad’s body wrack with their force. He settles back after the fit, and he blinks, bleary-eyed, noticing Tifa for the first time.

“Hey Dad,” she says softly.

“Sweetheart?” he says, coughing one more time. “What are you doing here?”

It’s been so long since she’s heard his voice through the medium of the air, not transmitted through a phone. It’s different. She can feel how his gravelly tone disrupts the stillness surrounding them. The warmth of his body is tangible, and she has no need to use her imagination to see the expression of his face. 

Her eyes immediately fill with tears again, and she is simultaneously annoyed and overwhelmed by her emotions. Her anger is washed away at the sight of his eyes. His mustache is peppered with more gray than she remembers, his temples whitened but the majority of his hair clinging onto its youthful black.

“You didn’t pick up the phone,” she breathes, the sob finally releasing itself from her chest. She reaches forward and envelopes him into a hug that he hurriedly reciprocates. 

“Oh,” he mutters softly into her hair. “Oh, darling.”

“You always pick up the phone,” she cries. “I feared the worst, and no one was calling me, and I was so mad at you—I was so mad.” 

He lets her cry into his shoulder. One of his arms tightens around her waist while the other holds the back of her head.

“I’m so sorry for worrying you, Tifa,” he says. “I knew you had the merger ceremony. I didn’t think you would call.”

She shudders against him. “The announcement—they told us—Cure and—and—“

“Oh, yes, of course,” he whispers, and his voice sounds despairing. “Cure.”

She pulls back from him a little, wiping at her nose and her cheeks. “Cloud told me he came to offer you a place in the trial, and that you—you—“

Her dad begins to frown at her, pushing back her bangs. “Tifa—“

“You rejected it,” she says, her voice breaking. The torrent of the past eight weeks floods her windpipe with a vicious force. It pours out of her mouth. 

“Why am I not enough for you?” she asks between gasps. “Why—why won’t you try it? Even—even if it doesn’t work—why can’t you try it?” The tears run faster, and she can’t breathe. “I know you miss—mom, and I know—it’s been so hard, but I—I love you, too—“

She dissolves into a mess, and she has to turn away from him, hiding her face with her hands. 

“Tifa…” she hears him say. “You think I don’t love you enough to stay?”

Tifa says nothing, trying to recover her breath. She sniffles, wiping at her face. 

“My love for you…that is the furthest from the truth. I love you more than anything in the world, Tifa. You are my daughter. Besides your mom, you’re the love of my life.”

Tifa breathes in deeply, hating the instability of her emotions. She can’t bring herself to look at him, her face mangled with feeling.

“Then—then why?”

He heaves a sigh. There is a slowness to his words as he says them, as if he’s collecting the right ones. 

“I can’t deny that I miss your mother, Tifa. I’ve missed her ever since she left us. It’s been so different. I’ve been different, too.”

“I know,” Tifa says. “We both have.”

“I haven’t…dealt with it well, I know.”

Tifa shakes her head, finally breathing a complete lungful of air without hiccuping. “There is no right way, Daddy.”

“I should have been stronger for you, and I wasn’t. But you were strong, Tifa. I tried to follow your example over the years. You went to college, and you found the job you wanted. You followed your dreams, and it inspired me to try to follow mine, too.”

Tifa looks up at her dad. He is giving her a wan smile. 

“I was re-elected for the next term s . The people like me here, but I think they hate _change_ more than they actually like _me.”_

Tifa’s lips thin at the words. “That’s not true, Dad.”

He merely shrugs. “Maybe it’s not. Regardless, that’s why I’ve been teaching Dyne so much, just in case. He’s been great. He has a mind for this kind of thing, and a passion that’s been lacking in me.”

Tifa reaches out to take his hand. His smile lifts a bit more when she does. “With the cancer diagnosis, I thought it was a sign. It was my time to go and join your mother,” he says. “Even further proof to teach someone I trusted to take my place in office.”

“But **,** Dad—“ she tries. 

“Hang on, Tifa. Let me finish,” he says, squeezing her hand. “I was lucky to have met your mother in this life. I was blessed to have you. And in life, I think, there are only so many pleasures to experience. Before you were born, I experienced many of them with Suki. When you arrived, I was able to experience more than I thought I could. 

“But with great love means heavy grief. I’ve been visiting her grave much more often, these days. I’ve been asking her a lot of questions, but she’s still stubborn and hasn’t answered any of them.”

Tifa lets out a small, breathless chuckle. Her father smiles at her. 

“It has been hard for me to keep my purpose, Tifa,” he continues. “My energy is declining. The chemo makes me feel sicker than I thought I was. And then yesterday, I just…collapsed. I’m lucky Dyne was around to bring me here.”

Tifa looks down at his hands. “Why did you change him to your emergency contact?”

“Ah,” he says. “He told you.”

“I was really, really mad at you today,” she confesses. “And yesterday, when Cloud told me you rejected the treatment.”

Her father watches her for a moment, his face falling in a somber shadow.

“I didn’t want you to worry. Your career is thriving. Dyne was going to notify you if anything happened, anyway, and—“

She shakes her head. “That’s unfair, Dad.”

“Especially with the merger. You were going to visit me, soon. I thought it best.”

Tifa furrows her brows. “I’m still mad at you for doing that. You need to tell me everything.”

He gently smiles at her, though it’s sad and melancholy. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He shifts on the bed, relaxing further into the papery pillows. “And about Mr. Strife’s visit…”

Tifa’s stomach starts to transform into lead. 

“His appearance was quite the shock.”

Tifa bites her lip. “Dyne told me.”

Her father makes a noncommittal noise under his breath. “I’m not the biggest fan of the kid. After everything he’s done to you this year…”

Tifa begins toying with the lip of her shirt. “Dad…”

“And then he travels here, pitching an innovation found and created by Shinra, no less.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t know what to think. Hard enough to believe on a good day.”

“Yeah,” Tifa says softly. “I understand.”

Her father surprises her by touching her forearm, encouraging her to look up at him. “But you know what really surprised me?” he asks.

Tifa raises a questioning eyebrow. “What?”

“Never in my life have I heard of a CEO traveling across a continent for one person.”

Tifa shakes her head. “He came to offer you the treatment because it was confidential. No one else could, unless they notified Rufus. And even then, I’m not sure how that works.”

“Be that as it may,” he sighs. “I told him upfront. I said that you had told me all about what he had done to you before. That he hurt you. The emails. Being a prick. I told him that I didn’t like him.”

Tifa opens her mouth. “Dad—“

“He reacted just as I thought he would. He had that stoic look about him, the kind I see with all the business professionals. He was trying to strike a deal without any emotion. I could see this kid sending you those emails filled with cowardice, bullying you. I thought, what an arrogant piece of work, standing in front of me, having the audacity to be here.”

Tifa is unsure how to respond. How can she tell him? How can she explain it? She is uncertain about how to confess to her dad how Cloud has distracted her from the weight of the world, how he helped shoulder her burdens during these last weeks.

“He changed a little after that,” he continues. Tifa catches his eye, and she’s startled at the look on his face. He stares at her questioningly and almost knowingly. It reminds her of the look he used to give her in high school, when she lied about where she was in the evenings, allowing her the one chance to fess up before she was punished. “It happened when Dyne left the room. His demeanor shifted. It wasn’t much, but it was enough that I noticed. I asked him what he was playing at. I asked him if he had a motive, because a lot of young guns usually have one. No one I know would come this far from home base unless he was going to gain something from it. Otherwise, he would have sent someone else. I don’t care what protocol was with this Cure. He would not have wasted his time.”

“What did he say?” Tifa asks, a bit fearful of the answer. 

“You,” he tells her. “He mentioned _you_.”

Tifa curls her fingers harder and deeper into the cotton of her shirt. “Oh.”

“He asked me to think about you,” Brian says. “He said that if I loved you at all, I’d want to spend as much time with you as I could. I’d want to be present for the next milestones in your life. Even if Cure doesn’t work, why wouldn’t I want that chance?”

Tifa’s breath is like a rock lodged in her chest. 

“He said that?”

Her father nods, his lips thinning and becoming stern. “Tifa, I slept on his words. They have haunted me these past few days. It wasn’t as if I’d never thought about them, but to have them said so directly to my face—I was angry. I was angry at him and everyone and myself, just like, I’m sure, you’ve been angry with me.”

Tifa bites her cheek to keep them from quivering. 

“And I’ve come to a conclusion about Mr. Strife and his actions,” he barrels on, cradling her face with his hand.

She sighs, feeling tears prick at her eyes again. She huffs, rolling her eyes at herself. “What’s that?”

He half-smiles. “He did this because he loves you.”

Tifa scoffs a laugh, trying to avoid her tears. She reaches up to rub them off her cheeks, and she doesn’t know how her father deduced something so profound in such a small amount of time.

“I don’t…I’m not sure about that, Dad.”

He pulls her against his side, kissing her temple. 

“Tell me about it, then.”

Tifa doesn’t know how. She’s not sure how to tell her father about how she feels or the intimacy her and Cloud have shared—it’s embarrassing and vulnerable and things she tries to avoid on a daily basis.

Thinking about it all in a hospital bed, with a deadly sickness inside of the closest person she’s attached to on this earth, somehow makes the ideas behind the story a little _less_. Tifa gains the courage from the lingering kiss on her temple from him, because her embarrassment and vulnerability and shame and hope all seem to be insignificant when staring into the face of possible death. Life is short, and it is never simple. What would be the point if it was?

Tifa takes a breath and contemplates the last few weeks of her life. Unsure of how to start, she ends up using a tried and true method.

She starts at the beginning. 

And she keeps it PG-13, for both of their sakes.

* * *

By the end of Tifa’s story, the nurse comes in to check on her father’s vitals and take his dinner order. She refills his water glass and makes sure they are both comfortable. Tifa’s father tells her they’ve tried to avoid as much press or information getting out as possible, but it is only a matter of time before he has flowers and balloons sent to his room, along with journalists for the news channels. He sighs tiredly at it, and Tifa wonders about her father’s his verbalized lack of passion from before. 

Tifa pulls out her phone and notifies her girls that everything is okay. They all respond back with capitalized words and exclamations, with Yuffie saying, _Tell Brian never to do that to you again, I swear to Holy. Who does he think he is? Ugh!!_

Tifa tells him. Her dad chuckles lightly and says, “You have a wonderful group of girls. I’m happy you’ve found them in this world.”

Tifa sends Cloud an update, as well. 

**Tifa:** _I’m still a little mad at him, but he’s alive._

**Cloud:** _Very happy to hear it. :)_

Cloud never sends any smiley faces or emojis. Her face softens in surprise. 

**Tifa:** _Me too._

**Cloud:** _Let me know if you need anything._

**Tifa:** _I will._

Once the nurse is gone fulfilling their dinner order, her father unceremoniously asks, “Do you love him, Tifa?”

She shifts in the hospital chair. She’s been afraid to even think it, let alone say it. She focuses her gaze on the evening sunset light filtering through the window in the corner of the room.

“I…” she pauses. The low, orange and yellow glow shelters the room like light from a campfire, warm and soft. Though she is already thinking about him, it still reminds her of him. It is comforting like a fire in a cabin, like the all-encompassing heat of a hearth. She wants him there, suddenly. Out of everyone else on the planet, she’d choose him to be sitting beside her. 

Eventually, she nods. “Yes.”

“What makes you think he doesn’t love you?”

Tifa opens her mouth, turning her gaze to her lap. She wrings her hands together. 

“I…I don’t know. It’s all a little scary, I guess. I’m not afraid to love him, anymore, but…I don’t know what he feels.”

Her dad smiles at her, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. “Well, I don’t think I could understand how he _couldn’t_ love you, sweetheart. If he didn’t, I’d wring his neck.”

Tifa laughs, shaking her head. “ _Dad.”_

“Oh, it’s true. Everyone you’ve met loves you, Tifa. I’ve witnessed it. If this Cloud’s sorry ass couldn’t love you, then he wouldn’t be worth your time.”

Tifa’s smile remains on her face, but she says, “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

“So, what do you think? If you asked him to come here, to drop everything, would he do it?”

Tifa blinks, opening her mouth. “I…I wouldn’t do that to him, Dad.”

“I know you wouldn’t, but humor an old man,” he says, waving his hand. “If you did, what would be his response?”

_No matter what happens, Tifa, I’ll be there._

Tifa takes in a breath. “He’d come.”

At that, her father nods. 

After they eat their dinners, her father sends her on an errand to retrieve his work bag from his home office, along with wanting her to get some fresh air. 

“You haven’t been back home in years, Tifa,” he says. “I feel just fine after eating and whatever they’re feeding me in this tube.” He lifts his right arm. “I’d leave this stuffy room if I was allowed.”

Tifa sighs. “Fine. But I’ll be back very soon.”

“Sure, honey,” he says, settling into the bed again. “I’m not going anywhere since I’m not allowed.”

“Ha-ha,” she says as she leaves. 

This time around, Tifa’s pace is much less manic and blurred. While night is beginning to descend and streetlamps are slowly flickering on, Tifa sees so many things she has forgotten about in her hometown. She notices the wildflowers lining the sidewalks, pink and yellow and blue. She glances out to the darkened border of Mt. Nibel, the peaks hovering over the town. The sunset is a brilliant blaze of reds, yellows, and purples, reflecting off the crags and dips of the mountain. The windfall from the valleys are cool and crisp, and she inhales the juniper and sweet, woodsy cedar. It’s a nostalgic smell, and she is reminded of running around the town as a child, playing on the teetering bridge leading to the hiking trails along Mt. Nibel, and getting lost in the underbrush. It smells like the recklessness and abandonment of growing up, and Tifa smiles against it.

She tries not to linger in her home too long, oversaturated with nostalgia. Her father hires cleaning ladies to fight the dust and keep the rooms tidy—especially the ones he never visits. It is a different smell, now. It is a stale, lemon scented cleanliness. It is no longer pungent with the punchy, floral aromas from her mother’s mopping, or the cherry smell from the wood polisher.

Her father moved rooms after her mother passed away, sleeping in the downstairs guest room. He hardly ever goes upstairs. Even more, Tifa isn’t sure how much time he truly spends at home, preferring to spend most of it in his work office or the office at home.

Tifa slips into his office space, seeing his beaten up, scuffed leather work bag. She opens to check for his laptop, satisfied when she sees the silver square of it inside the sleeve. She spends a minute longer in the room, taking in the family pictures hanging on the walls. There is one of their Costa Del Sol trip, Tifa held in her mom’s arms, their legs sparkling with sand, her dad wearing a visor and sunglasses. Her mom is in a one **-** piece, and Tifa is wearing a robin’s egg blue bathing suit with small, purple cartoon octopi.

She looks at the other pictures—opening gifts on a Christmas morning, a mundane breakfast before school with Tifa sitting beside a plate of pancakes, and one with Tifa holding a broken, particle board, graduating from a white belt to a yellow, still missing a front tooth.

There’s a tap on her chest again, just like the previous night. She readjusts the strap on her shoulder and leaves the house, inspired to take the long walk back to the hospital.

Her feet take her on a longer detour down the neighborhood. She takes a left on a lit, unpaved trail, passing underneath the metal gate of Nibelheim’s cemetery.

As long as it’s been and as dark and shadowed as the evening is making the grounds, she knows the journey to her mother’s grave by heart.

It is an unassuming plot. The headstone is beveled along the border, the granite lightly speckled and glinting underneath the moonlight. A fresh white rose lies across the ground, kissing the bottom edge of the headstone. Her father’s gift, she thinks.

The tapping against Tifa’s chest grows louder. She hasn’t been this close to her mother in several years, and she instantly regrets not taking the time to come more often. While a grave is only a place, there is something different about standing in front of it, close to the physical tethers of the dead rather than the spirit and the haunts of ghosts in the throes of her dreams.

“Hi **,** Mom,” she starts. “It’s been a while. I’m sorry I’ve been gone for so long.”

The night is quickly falling into a cooler temperature. It is still warm, summertime clinging to the town, but it is comfortable and dry.

“Dad said he’s been asking you a lot of questions. I have some questions, too, but I think you’ve already been trying to help me find the answers.”

Tifa kneels, running her finger over the indentations of her name. “If he decides to go back to you...if he decides this must be it for him, I wanted to tell you that I’ve accepted it. I’ve finally accepted it. Whatever my dad thinks. Whatever he wants. I want him to be happy. I don’t want him to regret anything.” She pauses, her finger catching against the _r_ of _Lockhart_. “Love is selfless. It’s supposed to inspire the best in us, isn’t it? And...it doesn’t matter what I want. I love him, and that’s all that has ever mattered.”

She smiles, softly and sadly, the inflamed emotions puffing up her throat. “I met someone, too. I wish you could have known him. I think you would like him. I love him.” The words feel loud against the night air. “I love him very much. Why did it—“ she pauses. “Why did it take a tragedy for me to realize how much, or what it meant? He’s been there for me. He’s accepted me so easily. I’m no longer afraid when I’m with him. I feel like I’m strong. He makes me feel like I can do anything I want, even if I can’t.”

Tifa’s hand falls to the grass lining the grave. Her fingertips hit a few beads of dew on the blades.

“But I promise, no matter what happens—no matter how this ends—you and Dad—you are both a part of me.” Tifa presses her palm to her chest. “No matter if it’s deep in the earth or across the universe. You’ll be near me, always, and I’ll never forget it.”

Tifa kisses her palm and places it on the middle of the stone. Then she stands, and she leaves.

As Tifa makes her way back to the hospital, there is a flicker in her chest. It is something deeper than despair, deeper than grief, even deeper than hope. It’s an ache—like a tug in the threads of her heart, pulling against the strings that reside there.

It’s like the tapping. It’s like the intuition. It’s almost a relief, as if everything will somehow be okay. While life takes away, scrapes against the jar of your body until there is absolutely nothing left, it also gives back.

She doesn’t know if she believes it’s her mother, or if it is merely a vain wish in the hopes of hearing her answers. But the feeling persists, even if it is just the breeze of the night or the dew left against the lines of her fingertips. Tifa smiles all the same. 

As she arrives back to the hospital room, seeing her dad sitting in the bed with a gentle flush in his cheeks, Tifa begins feeling the empty jar of her body start to replenish.

She falls asleep to the gentle rhythm of her father tapping on his laptop keyboard. She wakes in the middle of the night, having fallen asleep in one of the chairs. She groans against the strain in her neck, but when she opens her eyes, Tifa thinks she must still be dreaming.

“Hey, Tifa,” Cloud says, kneeling beside her. He’s giving her a soft, beautiful smile.

Dreaming, she thinks. _I’m dreaming._

“Hi, Cloud,” she says. _I love you._ “How did you know I wanted you to be here?”

One of his eyebrows quirk up. “I didn’t know.”

“Then how are you here?” she says. “This is a weird dream.”

He reaches up to cradle her face. His palm is warm and calloused, as rough and textured as it is in real life. She presses her cheek into it, humming.

“This isn’t a dream, Tifa,” he says, and she blinks at him, the rest of the room coming into focus.

She’s on the left side of the hospital bed. It is still dark out, with one of the lamps dimly lit in the corner. The beeps and drips from the machines reverberate like foreboding background music.

She sits up quickly, seeing a few others in the room with them. Her heart immediately begins to race, and her eyes widen. She finds her father’s figure, and he’s still alive and breathing and her adrenaline slows. He’s talking to a few of the men in white lab coats. She grips the armrests of the chair, and her eyes catch onto Cloud, who doesn’t look away from her.

“Cloud,” she says, her voice broken from sleep. “What’s—what’s going on?”

“Your father called me,” he says. He reaches up to her face again, as if he can’t help himself. “He told me he signed the papers I left him.”

“He...” Tifa trails, blinking. She loses her breath. “Papers?”

Cloud smiles a little at her confusion. “Yeah. I made him keep them, just in case he changed his mind.”

Her own thoughts whir and buzz, all mashed together. She shakes her head. “I guess I’m trying to catch up.”

Cloud tilts his head. “I’m sorry. This isn’t the easiest thing to wake up to.”

She glances back to her father, who catches her eye this time. He smiles reassuringly at her before turning back to the man beside him. He has curly, puffy hair, disheveled and rumpled, as if he is working on too little sleep. He pushes his glasses up onto his nose as his jaw moves faster and faster, one of his hands gesticulating wildly.

She turns back to Cloud. “You said...he called you? He changed his mind?”

Cloud nods, staring at her. “About five hours ago. We took a helicopter.”

Tifa glances at her watch. “Five hours? That must have been when...I went back to the house.” She shakes her head, looking at her dad again. “When I was coming back from seeing my mom...”

The feeling. The coincidence. Tifa pushes her palm into her heart, and it roils into her hand like a falling boulder from a cliff.

Her eyes begin to blur with tears. Not again, she thinks.

“Tifa,” Cloud says softly, tipping up her chin. “Don’t cry. It’s okay.”

“I know,” she says, sniffling. “I just can’t believe it.”

Cloud smiles, reaching up to catch a tear. “He loves you.”

It’s strange how Tifa never thought that weighed toward her father trying to live. But now she believes in it—she believes in the feeling more than she ever has before in her life.

She leans forward and kisses Cloud, holding the back of his head. He rests his hands on the armrests to keep from toppling over.

“Thank you, Cloud,” she says against his lips.

He smiles. “I didn’t do anything. I just answered my phone.”

“You did more than that,” she says.

She leans back and goes to stand. He moves out of the way so she can walk to her dad, and she touches his arm, giving him a smile.

Her father is signing along the dotted lines on about a hundred sheafs of paper. He smiles when he feels Tifa take a seat beside him.

“You’re sure, Dad?” she asks him, watching him flip the papers.

“I am,” he answers. “I was sitting here, waiting for you to come back from the house, and I kept thinking about you. I kept thinking about how I’ve let you down all these years.”

“Oh, Daddy, no,” she says. “No, you didn’t.”

“I did,” he says. “I think I’ve let Suki down, too. She wouldn’t talk to me. I started to think maybe I wasn’t listening.”

Tifa leans against him.

“I’ve never been too good at listening,” he says. “But I think I knew it when I collapsed yesterday. I was afraid to leave you without you knowing how much I loved you. How proud I am of you. And when you told me you thought I didn’t love you enough...” he sighs, signing one more sheet before placing it aside. He turns to face her. “I knew then. I haven’t been the father I wanted to be.”

Tifa’s grip on his arm tightens.

“Perhaps this will not make sense to you,” he continues, handing over the clipboard to the disheveled white lab coat. His name tag reads Dr. Gast. “But this cancer has shown me how beautiful life is. It must be the impending death—knowing it would happen sooner and sooner each passing day. And when I woke up with you this morning, I realized I was hoping for the wrong thing.”

Tifa stares at him, and he gives her a small smile.

“I never feared death until your mother passed, and by then it was too late. I never feared it when I was diagnosed. I welcomed it. But when I woke up with you beside me, I realized that I never feared not continuing to live. And I haven’t lived since your mother. That’s what I should have feared most of all.”

Tifa tugs him into a hug, smashing him into her.

“Dad,” she breathes.

“I love you more than anything left in this world,” he tells her. “Let me begin to live for you, Tifa.”

She gasps, crying into his shoulder.

“Okay,” she says. “I love you, too.”

* * *

Tifa and Cloud are ushered out of the hospital room once Dr. Gast makes all the preparations and agreements with the rest of the medical staff. It takes a few hours to have everything settled and secure, with the hospital manager signing off on the treatment, signatures from witnesses, and everything covered to avoid any complaints of malpractice, with sole responsibility placed on Shinra Industries and Dr. Gast’s license.

Tifa kisses her father’s cheek as they leave the room, with Tifa giving the overseeing nurse her phone number for the hospital to call when the administered dosage of Cure is complete.

It’s nearing sunrise as Tifa and Cloud walk out of the hospital. Tifa is too wired and awake to care about her fatigue. Cloud doesn’t seem to be very tired, either. He only seems to be too preoccupied with looking at her. She finds herself blushing under his scrutiny, and her heart pounds thinking about the unlocked freedom of love that swims in her bloodstream. Waking up to him in the hospital room only solidified how easy it was to feel. Now, completely alone in the darkened streets of her hometown, she can experience the energy between them. She feels charged too fully, her tongue sparking with the emotion she needs to give him.

She expels a breath. Instead, she finds balance with something ordinary and simple.

“Are you hungry?” she asks, smiling up at him. “There’s a coffee shop that opens in a few minutes.”

Cloud places his hands in his pockets. “Sure, I can eat.”

Her stomach has finally settled after the last tumultuous twenty-four hours. She realizes how hungry she is, the hospital dinner she picked at hardly doing much to tame the growling of her stomach.

They order and eat breakfast croissants, which is what Tifa always used to eat before going to class. She is submerged in her history, vocalizing memories that hit her and stories that surface within her thoughts. Cloud watches her as he listens, a tender serenity on his face.

She takes him aimlessly down lanes of the neighborhood. She points out the streets she would walk to school. She shows him the playground where she’d meet with friends. They walk a trail toward Mt. Nibel, and they arrive at the entrance to the bridge. Tifa tells him about how she used to be a tour guide, wearing a ridiculous cowgirl outfit as a uniform.

“What did this uniform look like?” Cloud asks, raising a brow.

“It looked like something a sixteen year old should not wear in public. It bared my midriff and my shorts were very short,” Tifa says, chuckling at the memory. “It was…silly.”

“Hm,” Cloud hums, stepping closer to her. “It showed your midriff?”

Tifa shakes her head. “I’m sure you would have enjoyed it.”

Cloud only smiles. “I bet most of the tours were catered to teenage boys.”

Tifa blushes but laughs. “Not all the time.”

“I’d have been a repeat customer,” he says, placing his hands on her hips. He bumps her nose with his own. “I’d probably come here whenever you were working. I’d be shameless.”

“I wouldn’t have minded,” Tifa whispers, bringing her hands behind his neck. She pulls him into a kiss, and it starts soft before Cloud deepens it. She feels the emotions being pulled up her throat. They are so different than the ones she felt a handful of hours ago. These are sensations that weigh on her chest—not with anxiety, but with undulating excitement.

She breaks away from him for a moment, intertwining their fingers. “Come on,” she says. “I want to take you somewhere.”

They reach the water tower in a few minutes, their walk quiet and serene. Tifa goes around to the ladder and climbs, and Cloud follows right behind.

Tifa takes a seat on the wooden planks, letting her legs dangle over the edge. It’s the same spot she used to sit so many years ago. Cloud takes a seat beside her, bending up one knee and resting his forearm on it, placing the other behind her back.

“I used to come here all the time,” she says, leaning into the side of his chest. “It would be nighttime, when I wanted to be alone.”

“You wouldn’t meet anyone here?” he asks her.

“No,” she says softly. She looks out to the stars, holding onto the vestiges of the dark, deep morning. The sunrise is beginning to filter into the sky, hinting at the beginning of day. There is a glow of lavender, fighting against the pull of night. “I would always be on my own. It was my place to think.” She smiles. “The playground was the place for talk. This was my secret.”

“I’m intruding on your secret,” Cloud says, pressing further into her. 

She shakes her head, looking up at him. “I want you to know this place. I want you to be here.”

“It’s a pretty place,” he says, still staring at her. He’s been staring at her all evening, she thinks. As soon as she woke up, as they walked around Nibelheim. He stares and stares as if she’ll disappear. 

“It is,” she says. “I’d use it for inspiration, when I was sad or…or down on myself. Sometimes…” she trails, breaking eye contact. She looks out over the neighborhood to the line of the horizon. “Sometimes, I’d come up here and imagine all of the things I could be. I didn’t know what I wanted. Nibelheim always felt so small to me,” she explains. “It felt like a blackhole. So many people who grow up here _stay_ here. It’s like they can’t leave. I didn’t want to stay here, but when mom died, everything changed. I couldn’t leave my father. I didn’t want to be so far away from my mom.” She takes a little breath, expelling it into the darkness. “I daydreamed a lot, here. It’s funny—I always thought of fanciful things. The things that would never happen, you know? The things that were so outlandish and extravagant. I’d imagine myself as some famous doctor or scientist or fighter, and I thought about everything I might be and everything I would never be.”

Tifa pauses, suddenly remembering her sixteen year old self, curling her knees up to her chest and crying and feeling all alone. 

“I…once my mom died, I spent my time wishing. I wished for her to come back—to come back and fix my dad and put my life back together.”

She feels Cloud’s arm shift across her back, huddling closer. His warmth touches her like his calloused fingers touched her cheek in the hospital room, full of gentle comfort. Tifa closes her eyes, falling into this new memory on the water tower, with him beside her. 

When she opens her eyes, she sees the sun beginning to peek over the line of trees in the distance. A curl of orange and shimmering blue clashes with the dark navy blanket of the quiet morning. She turns her head to look at Cloud’s face, and he gazes back at her. His eyes are a culmination of things—sometimes dark blue, sometimes cerulean, sometimes the bright shine of the dawn. 

She reaches out to hold his face. Of all the things she imagined, she never imagined _him._ Perhaps she couldn’t, she thinks, because he couldn’t be imagined if he was already created. 

“My dad told me about your conversation,” Tifa says. “I know it wasn’t…the best.”

Cloud smiles wryly. “No, not the best. He didn’t like me very much.”

“I’m sorry,” she answers. “That was my fault. I complained about you all the time to him when you sent me those emails. I…” she pauses, glancing away from him. “I didn’t give you glowing reviews, but I’ve been updating him on how we’ve…gotten along better.”

Cloud raises an amused eyebrow. “You have?”

“Nothing about us…” she trails, blushing. “You know. But I told him our relationship had gotten better.”

He shrugs a little. “It didn’t matter to him. He still hated me.” He touches her cheek. “I deserved every bit of it.”

She frowns at him. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” he says. “He almost refused to see me when he realized who I was. I acted like it was a business meeting. It was like I…reverted back to my normal self.”

“You had to,” Tifa says. “That’s how you protect yourself. That’s how you’ve always made deals, Cloud.”

“But I knew it was different,” he says, glancing out to the neighborhood rooftops. “And I still screwed it up.”

“You didn’t,” she says. “He called you back, tonight. You told him something that stuck.” She smiles. “He even told me you did.”

Cloud looks at her, and his face softens. “I guess I did.”

She settles closer to him. “He said you mentioned me.”

“Yeah…” he says quietly. “I…had to. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she says, taking his hand in hers. “I think he had to hear it from someone else who, um, cares about me.”

Cloud is gazing at her again, watching as she hesitates over the word. “I do care about you, Tifa.”

The new sunlight refracts against his face as they stare at each other, and Tifa blinks. It is a sudden realization that hits her, so quick and abrupt and obvious. His eyes are the color of daydreams. They are nighttime daydreams, the deep, dark ones made in secret, the ones no one will ever know, cradled in her heart and isolated from the world. 

They are sky blue daydreams, the ones made during the daytime hours, the ones that can be made _real._ The ones to reach for and grasp and make possible. 

They are both. 

He is both. 

“Tifa,” he says, his brow furrowing. He reaches up to wipe away the tears once more. “What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head quickly, trying to push the tears away. “Nothing,” she says. “Nothing. I know you said crying isn’t a waste of time, but I’m certainly tired of all these tears today.”

Cloud smiles a little, uncertainly. He seems to make up his mind, shifting forward. He kisses one of the wet lines on her cheek. 

Her heart strikes against her sternum, and it feels like a blow from his sword. “Cloud,” she says. She grips his arm. “Cloud, I’m happy. I don’t know the last time I was happy like this.”

The sun blazes in its burst of red, seeping into the atmosphere. The sky is not fully awake, but it hits her skin, and she feels every last drop of emotion wringing out of her system.

She leans her forehead against his, and he rests one hand on her hip. 

“I’m happy, too,” he whispers. 

She grabs him tighter, pulling him closer. “I want to keep this,” she says. “This feeling. This place.” She breathes out. “This day will never come again, so let me…let us have this moment.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Okay. Let us have it.”

They hold each other until the day breaks, and the morning settles upon their shoulders like a blanket of possibilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "It is not death that a man should fear, but he should fear never beginning to live."  
> -Marcus Aurelius


	16. XVI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the end.
> 
> I want to express the depth of my love for all you readers, but words are pretty inadequate, so I hope you feel the love from this last chapter. From my heart to yours. ❤️
> 
> HUGE THANK YOU to [SassyUnicorn7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyUnicorn7/pseuds/SassyUnicorn7) for editing/beta'ing this chapter, making sure I wasn't too ridiculous, and for being the most phenomenal human being. You have been the absolute best, and I will adore you until the end of time. Everyone PLEASE check out her work! It is also phenomenal.
> 
> Special mention to [kotaface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aveyune23/pseuds/kotaface), because even though she didn't beta this chapter, she has been my pillar this whole time. Check out her work also, everyone. I MEAN IT. 
> 
> One last thing. [Somebodys_Nightmare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somebodys_Nightmare), happy birthday! HAHA. WE FINALLY REACHED THE END. Can you believe it? This is mostly me just putting the bow on it. Without getting too weepy, I just want to say thanks for being my best friend and wife.

“Fuck.”

Tifa loves when he groans in her ear like that. She loves when he presses against her thighs, spreading her apart like taffy. She feels his heat in the space between them, rushing in the air like a wave. 

“Gaia, you feel so good,” he pants, his hands clenching the sheets. She brings her palms up to curl her fingers around his whitened knuckles, and she keens. 

“This always feels so good,” she breathes. _“Cloud.”_

He pushes into her deeper and harder. It can’t be defined as fast, but his thrusts are powerful and deliberate, and she cries out every time they collide. 

“I love it when you make that sound,” he growls. His forehead gleams with a sheen of sweat, and his cheeks are flushed pink, and his eyes are sharpened with the focus of lust and pleasure. 

His mouth is parted, and it shines where she kissed him earlier, and the cords of his neck pop underneath his skin. The electric sparks from their love-making mix with how incredibly and stupidly attracted she is to the movements of his body. If she doesn’t control herself, she’ll come at the sheer view of him penetrating her. When he says, “Fuck,” she moans at the way his throat bobs around the word, and when he says, “Gaia, your pussy is tight,” Tifa’s never heard him say that before, and it’s dirty and vulgar and filthy, and that word coming out of him, bordered with his jaw and flushed cheeks and sweat makes her back arch, and she’s suddenly and substantially drowning in the ocean of ecstasy. She feels it happening, and there’s nothing she can do to stop it. 

“Oh, Cloud, I’m…” she pleads. 

He reaches up to place two fingers in his slightly parted mouth, the mouth that says _pussy_ and _fuck,_ and he drags his wet fingers across her clit. Tifa’s eyes slam shut, and she twists her hands desperately into the sheets. 

“I…can’t…ah, I’m…” she says unintelligibly. 

“How’s that?” he asks her, voice husky and coarse, and he thrusts harder and harder. Tifa loses her vision. 

“I’m…” she nearly screams. 

She comes with his finger pressed up against her, his rhythm unrelenting and merciless, and Tifa thinks she loves this the best out of everything else. 

He comes a few moments after, hands pressing deeply into the mattress, his arms shaking from the effort. As they catch their breath, they also catch eyes. Tifa grins at him, and he smiles, leaning forward to kiss her. She wraps her hands around his neck, lacing her fingers together. He lowers to his forearms, and their abdomens press and stick, his breaths expanding into her torso with gentle weight. She is cradled with him all around, and she tugs him closer, humming a soft noise of contentment. 

“Mm, Cloud,” she sighs between kisses. “I’ve never heard you say…um, pussy, before.”

This somehow manages to pull a blush over Cloud’s face. He huffs a little breath. “I, uh, guess I got caught up in the moment.”

He rolls over to the side and she rolls along with him, facing each other. 

“Caught up, huh?”

“Yeah,” he says, one of his hands trailing down her side. It lands on her bottom. “I always lose my mind a little when I’m inside of you.”

His word choice makes her experience a full body shudder from her navel to her toes. 

“I do, too,” she admits, folding his hair between her fingers. “And I thought….well, you saying…pussy was…hot.”

His eyes begin to gleam at her. “You thought so?” He nudges closer, squeezing her ass. “Does saying _pussy_ turn you on, Teef?”

She starts blushing, too, breaking eye contact. Her eyes fall to his lips. “I didn’t know it did. It’s…dirty.”

“It’s okay if you like it,” Cloud says, beginning to smile. “Don’t be embarrassed.”

“I’m not,” she says hurriedly, her blush deepening. “It’s…how you say it, I think.”

He raises a brow at that, but his smile is morphing into a smirk. “What do you mean?”

“You know,” she shrugs, shaking her head. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“So when I say things like… _fuck,_ ” Cloud drawls, squeezing her bottom in his palm, again. “Shit. _Goddamn it._ Do those turn you on?” 

Tifa swallows, his voice sounding strange saying those words so leisurely, with only a sprinkle of heat behind them. She shifts under his hands. 

“Yes,” she says quietly, running a finger along his jaw. 

“If I said those words with the other dirty ones,” he trails, paving a line from her ass to the back of her thigh. “Wet. Pussy. Tits, ass. Your clit.”

“Cloud,” Tifa protests, suddenly embarrassed again. She ducks her head, trying to hide. “It’s different when we’re not…having sex.”

“Hm,” he hums, a low chuckle emitting from his chest. “I don’t know, Tifa. It can be the same.” He tips his head to kiss her jaw, then he moves down to kiss her neck. “I can talk dirty to you. Do you want me to?”

“I…” she stops, biting her lip. “Um…well…okay. I guess we could…try.”

“Okay,” he says, and she can feel his smile against her skin. “Then…how wet do you get if you think about me fucking your pussy?”

The shame wars with how sexy his voice is. Tifa bites her lip harder. 

“Cloud…”

“I’ll lick you. Up and down. Over and over. I’ll find your clit and suck on you until you scream my name.”

Tifa takes a deep breath, his mouth a warm, heated circle around her pulse in her neck. 

“I’ll spread your legs wide so I can see all of you.”

He says these things so easily, as if he thinks about them all the time. Tifa blinks, and she tries not to moan at the thought. 

“Cloud, do you… **?** ”

“I’ll drag my fingers so hard against you,” he growls, and his hands begin to roam along her inner thighs. Tifa’s stomach tightens, and she realizes how much she’s enjoying this. Her heart begins to hammer against her sternum. She sighs loudly, gripping the back of his head. 

“You’re…good at this,” she says, and she _feels_ herself opening up for him, his thumb running along the joint of her hip. 

“Mm,” Cloud moans, his mouth suckling on her chest now. “I’ll press my fingers so far into you. I’ll fuck you fast and hard and spread you so far apart—“ 

Tifa gasps. “Oh, Gaia, _Cloud.”_

“I’ll fuck you until you come on my fingers, then I’ll fuck you some more.”

Tifa can’t stifle the whimper that crawls up her throat. He’s snarling the words—so vulgar and obscene and yet heated and full of promise. His thumb moves from her hip joint to her sex, running along the folds, and she moans. 

“Oh, Tifa,” he groans. “You’re so wet already. And your clit—“ 

His thumb taps it, and her hips rock. She digs her fingers in his skull. 

“It’s swollen,” she breathes, and Cloud taps again. Her hand glides down to his shoulder. “It’s ready for you.”

Cloud leans his head away to look at her, and he stares at her with darkened, lustful eyes. As he runs his fingers gently along her wet skin, her shame disappears. She stares back at him as he fondles her, her legs spreading on their own. There’s something infinitely arousing about this. Infinitely desirous and blazingly electric. Cloud is barely touching her, and she’s so wound up already. Her blood rushes to her face, and she licks her lip. Cloud breathes out in a huff as he watches.

“Tifa,” he says, leaning forward to kiss her. She moans into his mouth. 

“Will you…? ” she tries, his eyes attached to her lips. “Will you fuck my pussy like you said?” she whispers. 

Cloud’s gaze becomes hazy. “Gaia, Tifa. Say that again.”

“Fuck my…pussy,” she says, and his pressure heightens. Her next words come out like a mewl. “Fuck me with your fingers. Touch my—oh, like that.”

“Mm, Tifa. You like that?”

“Oh, I love that,” she says, breathily. “Your fingers on my…clit.”

He runs his fingers up and down her in a tease, and she slides her hand along his chest.

“Shit,” he hisses. “If I slip my fingers into you…”

“Yes,” she says, encouraging him by rocking her hips. “Please.”

He does, and she makes a low noise, pulling deep from her throat. “You know—what’s better than your fingers?”

He pumps her slowly, his thumb still on her clit, and she begins to pant.

“What, Teef?” he asks. “Tell me.”

Her hand slides down further until she grips his arousal. His tip is wet, and he’s silky and smooth, and she wants him so badly even though they finished not very long ago. It’s always like that, she thinks. It’s never sated. She wants him over and over again. It’s been like that since before the desk sex, ever since he came to her office that day and confessed his want. Ever since her dream. 

His breath is strangled as she pulls the skin of his arousal. She leans in so that her lips brush along his. 

“Your cock,” she breathes. “It’s better.”

“Oh, Tifa,” he says, his voice blazing and heated. He curls his fingers, and she squeezes him harder. “You saying… _cock_ …is…”

She loves the way he looks at her, as if he’s enlightened and astonished and drenched in the pleasure she gives him. He hits her in that sweet spot, and she moans. 

“I’m ready for you,” she keens. “Fuck me with your cock. Make me scream your name. Make me come like you want.” 

His pupils widen, the black swallowing the blue. He slips his hand away from her, shifting just enough. She releases his arousal from her grip, and he positions himself right before her. There is one hot, delirious moment before he sinks in. She extends her head back, and he drags his teeth along her throat. He palms her thigh and runs it down to her calf before lifting it up and over his shoulder. 

“Tifa, goddamn,” he murmurs, beginning to roll his hips. 

“Yes, Cloud,” she cries, wrapping her other leg around him. “Just like that. Just…oh.”

She loses her breath as he presses and presses, clawing at his chest. The dusk light filters in through the window, and it caresses along the straining of his abdomen, the fluttering lines and the undulating muscles. It’s almost too perfect of a picture, Cloud’s stare intense and needy and punishing to Tifa’s thunderous heart.

“Cloud,” she breathes. “I’m losing my mind.”

At that, Cloud’s lips tip up into a smile, so small and knowing and indulgent that Tifa comes immediately after witnessing it.

She tightens around him, grasping at his chest and the sheets. The cry that comes out of her is a strangled mess, constricted and wordless.

He groans as he releases, filling her up with his heat. Boneless and exhausted, Tifa lies there and stares at him while his chest heaves and recovers. He holds onto her leg, pressing his cheek against her calf as he catches her eye. His smile reappears.

She smiles back, and she can’t help the laugh that bubbles up out of her. She relaxes her leg from his shoulder and sits up only to pull him down beside her. Her laughter inspires his own, his chuckles low against her giggles.

“Cloud,” she says, curling her hands around his shoulders. “I told you to…” her voice falls to a whisper. _“Fuck my pussy.”_ She buries her head under his chin, continuing to laugh. “I’ve never said that before.”

He runs his fingers through her hair.

“You also said clit and cock,” he says. “Absolutely filthy, Tifa Lockhart. I can hardly believe it.”

“Stop.”

“You’ll have to kiss your dad with that mouth, now, I hope you realize.”

“Shut up!” she giggles, shaking her head. “Cloud! You’re terrible. That’s all I’ll think about when I see him tonight.”

Cloud laughs, abruptly and warmly. “That was really sexy, though, Tifa.”

“I could tell you thought so,” she smiles. “And you’re too good at it.”

At that he turns his head away, and she spies the blush crowding his face. “I uh, think about this sometimes.”

“I _knew_ it,” she says, kissing his cheek. “So you fantasize, Cloud?”

It takes him a second to answer. He stares at her neck, his eyes climbing up to her jaw. “More than I should. You make it hard not to.”

He leans in to kiss her, and she smiles against him.

“And now that I’ve heard you say cock and clit and pussy...” He trails off.

She laughs against his mouth.

“It’s going to be worse. I’ll whisper dirty things in your ear in public,” he says, and she can’t tell if he’s teasing.

“Cloud, if you talk to me like this in public...” Tifa shakes her head. “I’ll die of embarrassment.”

“I love it when you’re embarrassed,” he says. “You get bashful and you bite your lip. You  uh, push your hair behind your ear.” He smiles again, and she stares.

“You’ve paid attention,” she says softly, surprised at the thought.

He brings his hand to her waist. “Not interested in doing much else.”

She kisses him again, humming. She glances over to the window, seeing the light beginning to fade through the windows.

They’re in his old office. She thought he had been joking when he said he had a murphy bed, what feels like eons ago, but lo and behold, they snuck into the office a few weeks ago with the CEO office key he had secretly kept, and he walked right up to the wall and pulled it down. They began making it a habit to use together after work when their schedules aligned.

After her father’s first two rounds of Cure, Brian began to visit every weekend. It’s been almost six weeks since the first Cure administration, and her father has been doing better and better every week. He’s even been house shopping around Midgar and in Edge, on the outskirts of the big city.

The only unfortunate circumstance is that Cloud and Tifa have less time to spend together. Cloud, with his newly implemented job, travels every other weekend. With the merger, Tifa’s schedule has been filling with new accounts, the business thriving and evolving, growing hectic and chaotic.

Tifa had been both surprised and relieved that she still had a job to come back to after visiting Nibelheim. Cloud had merely shook his head at her.

“You’re too valuable to the company, and I don’t think Rufus ever cared much about our...relationship, anyway. I think he wanted to threaten me.”

“Threaten you?” Tifa had asked. “How?”

Cloud smirked at her. “How else?” Then he kissed her soundly, and she understood what he meant.

Scarlet had ended up keeping her job as secretary, too. She wasn't secretary for Rufus, but some other man named Heideggar. He worked at the other Shinra building, so Tifa didn't know him, but she remained joyous that she wouldn't have to see Scarlet's icy eyes or red dresses nearly as often as she had before.

After Nibelheim, most things remained the same. They continued going to dinners, sleeping over at each other’s places, and spending their free time together when they had it. It had been nothing but comfortable, Tifa always happy to see him and spend time with him on her couch or elsewhere.

Most things remained the same. Her love for him did not. It had only grown and matured, flourishing like the green grasses of summer.

They haven’t identified what they are out loud, but Tifa knows by the way he holds her hand, the way he comes around behind her when she’s cooking dinner, the way he kisses her and presses his hips against her hips.

It’s her favorite when they sneak into his old office and utilize the bed in the corner. Rufus never seems to visit—he’s only visited once during the first week after the merger. Now the beautiful top floor collects dust and stagnant air with no one to admire the view from the window. No one except them.

“You ready for tomorrow?” he asks her as they begin to collect their clothes from the floor.

“Yeah, I think so,” Tifa answers, pulling up black underwear and her skirt. “Should be fun.”

Tomorrow is Tifa’s Tae Kwon Do competition. She’ll perform her stances and jumps, then undergo a sparring match against a belt level higher than her own to determine her readiness for graduating.

Her father will be there, and so will Cloud and her girlfriends. Cloud hasn’t been able to join them on any of their brunch excursions, always seeming to be suspiciously out of town. It is with no surprise that he hasn’t been too keen on meeting them all at once, much to Tifa’s endless amusement.

“They won’t bite your head off,” she’d said. “...probably.”

Cloud simply grumbled.

Once dressed and leaving the office, Cloud offers to drive her home like he always does. When they arrive at her apartment, he says, “I’m looking forward to watching you kick ass tomorrow morning.”

Tifa grins. “Thanks. The girls are going to love meeting you.”

He rubs the back of his head. “Hope so.”

Tifa grins wider. “You sure you don’t want to stay for dinner?”

“Yeah,” he says. “My mom’s getting in a little later tonight. I need to make sure everything is...clean and orderly.”

“Invite her tomorrow,” she says. “She’s welcome to come, too, if she wants. No pressure.”

“Yeah, I will. She wants to meet you,” he says. “I’ve…told her a bit about you.”

Tifa grins at that. “You have?”

Cloud tilts his head away. “Uh, yeah. Nothing about your underwear, though.”

Tifa laughs brightly. “Good. I wasn’t looking forward to that conversation, yet.”

She leans over the console to kiss him. Their lips linger and pull, and Tifa sighs contentedly as they break away.

“See you tomorrow,” she says, opening the door. Before she steps all the way out, Cloud says, “Tifa.”

She looks back at him. 

“Tifa, I—“ he pauses. “I’ll…see you tomorrow.”

Tifa nods, her smile large and happy before she pushes out of the car and shuts the door behind her. 

* * *

Tifa arrives with her father to Zangan’s studio bright and early the next morning. 

Zangan greets them with his proud and calming disposition, clasping hands with Brian and bowing deeply to Tifa. 

“Mr. Lockhart,” he says. “It is wonderful to have you here.”

Brian nods, grinning. “It’s a pleasure. I’m happy to be here.”

Zangan’s eyes meet Tifa’s, his dark grey eyes gleaming with acknowledgement. He knows the extent of her challenges, more than most others, watching her grow in her forms and her combinations, landing kicks and slicing through the air with her hands and feet—it is different between mentor and student, in ways Tifa can’t explain. It is embedded between them, in all those vulnerable moments between her punches and her frustration, when he could witness her exhaustion and her angry tears and gave her a towel to wipe off her sweat.

“Discard the worries and the tribulations, Tifa,” he had told her, once, as she used the towel to wipe at her forehead and her eyes. “The sweat from your exertion is the waste of your body. Rid yourself of your fears, one day at a time.”

Today, it feels very much the same—continuing to rid her fears, exerting the waste from her body, and shoveling her vulnerabilities into the dirt.

“Tifa, my pupil. Are you ready?” Zangan asks.

She smiles at the look he’s giving her, filled with a distinct surety and satisfaction. It is as close to a smile as she’ll ever receive from him. She gives him a nod. 

“Ready.”

She warms up as the other competitors arrive, following her lead on the mats and meandering to the few punching bags hanging in the far corner of the room.

Her girlfriends arrive soon enough, surrounding and crowding her father by taking theseats around him. She hears his laughter across the room, and Tifa watches them all converse, grinning at how Yuffie flails her arms around when she speaks, Aerith resting a hand on Brian’s shoulder with a grin, and Jessie punching him in the arm while her dad acts like it’s injured him, bringing a hand up to hold his bicep. 

When Tifa catches Aerith’s eye, she beams and waves crazily, notifying the other girls who hoot and holler. Jessie pumps her fist in a circle, making consecutive grunting noises. Yuffie cups her hands around her mouth, shouting, “Tifa, you’re my idol!”

Tifa feels herself redden, ducking her head as if she can hide from their reactions, but the grin grows on her face regardless of her embarrassment. 

Within the next few minutes, Cloud arrives. Tifa is surprised and delighted to see his mother in tow, following behind him. Tifa pauses in her stretching, bounding over to Cloud as soon as she catches his eyes fromacross the room. 

“Cloud!” she calls, walking up to him. His mother is telling him something before he turns further to greet her. 

“Tifa,” he says, an easy smile forming on his lips. “Hey.” His eyes fall to her attire, her body robed up in her white uniform. “I like your outfit.”

“Thanks. It’s my ready to kick ass ensemble,” she says, winking. 

“I’m ready to see you in action, then,” he says, smiling before clearing his throat and moving to the side and gesturing. “Tifa, this is my mom, Claudia. Mom, Tifa.” 

Tifa beams. His mother is beautiful, and she can already see where Cloud received his looks. Her hair is blonde and wispy, curving around her face. Her eyes are that luscious sky blue that Cloud inherited, missing the ring of green. Her face is narrow, her jaw gentle with a pointed chin. She reminds Tifa so much of Cloud, it’s almost laughable. Even the softness of her gaze reminds Tifa of Cloud’s when he’s watching her, listening to her as she talks. Her mind immediately takes her to the things Cloud described when he was younger—cooking with his mother, tending the land with her, and learning how to play poker. 

“Claudia,” Tifa greets, holding out her hand to shake. “It’s so wonderful to meet you.”

“Yes, Tifa, same to you,” Claudia answers, taking her hand. It is warm and welcoming. “I’ve heard very much about you.”

Tifa blushes at that, glancing at Cloud. Cloud doesn’t seem to be embarrassed by the confession, merely smiling at her. 

“I told you,” he says.

Tifa chuckles, shaking her head. She turns back to Claudia. “Thank you so much for coming. I hope you enjoy the competition.”

“Oh,  I’m sure I will. Thank you for inviting me.” 

“Of course,” Tifa says. “The more, the merrier.”

She smiles. “I look forward to getting to know you. I don’t think I’ve known Cloud to ever be so enamored with someone.”

At that, Cloud does blush. His gaze turns down to the floor. “Mom…”

Claudia laughs, and Tifa feels a building warmth cascade around her chest. 

“You should know it’s mutual,” Tifa answers.

Claudia’s eyes twinkle. Cloud glances up at Tifa’s face, and she grins at him. He smiles back.

“Competitors! Make your way to the middle of the gym. Everyone else, please have a seat,” one of the organizers calls behind them. The people who had been milling around begin to move and take their places. 

“Well, that’s me,” Tifa says. She gestures to the area where her dad is sitting, still talking with her girlfriends. It almost looks like they are all watching Tifa and Cloud’s interaction, but Tifa tries to ignore it. “My dad and friends are over there. They’ve saved you both seats.”

“Oh, thank you,” Claudia says, nodding. “Are these the friends you’re dreading, Cloud?”

“I’m not _dreading,_ ” Cloud argues. 

“He’s dreading,” Tifa says, laughing. “Don’t worry, they’ll only nibble. I told them to be on their best behavior.”

“Right,” he says, seeming to be unamused. “Anyway, uh, good luck.”

“Thanks,” she beams. “Try to survive.”

He grunts. Impulsively, she leans up to kiss his cheek.

She hears the girls make squeals and _oohs_ immediately. Tifa glances at them and rolls her eyes. Aerith begins to giggle, and Yuffie and Jessie grin unabashedly, every single one of their teeth being showcased under the lights of the dojo. 

“I’ll survive for you,” Cloud mutters under his breath. Tifa laughs before turning away toward the middle of the room, but she is called over by her father before she leaves. 

“Tifa,” her father says, standing up. He smiles at her, placing a palm on her shoulder. “Remember what I always say. It’s not the size of the woman in the fight, it’s the—“

“Size of the fight in the woman,” Tifa finishes, smiling and shaking her head. “I know, Dad.” 

He chuckles, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. Tifa makes her way to the side of the room with the other competitors, already lined up against the wall. She is close enough to where her family and friends sit to hear their continued conversation.

Distantly, Tifa hears Aerith coo, “Oh, sit by me, Mr. Ex-CEO!”

“No, me!” Jessie cries. 

Claudia greets them all with a smile, the girls happily and joyously saying their hellos. 

“So your hair’s real, huh?” Yuffie asks and pats Cloud’s head once he takes his seat between his mom and Jessie. He is situated in front of Yuffie and caddy corner to Aerith. Tifa’s father sits on the other side of Jessie, and he greets Cloud with a nod. 

Cloud grimaces when Yuffie runs her fingers along his head, ducking away from her. His shoulders rise to his ears. “Uh…yes.”

Yuffie cackles. Jessie pats his thigh in pseudo-comfort, and Cloud recoils. 

“Please, don’t,” he says. 

“Cloud, do you remember me?” Aerith asks, grinning. “And don’t say no!”

Cloud glances at her and does a double take. “I…you’re…”

“Aerith, the flower girl,” she announces, smiling and endlessly pleased with herself. “I still think about that note you wrote to our darling Tifa.”

Cloud’s cheeks turn as red as Tifa’s ever seen them—as red hot and burning as a stovetop. 

“I…er…”

“ _So_ swoon-worthy, I tell you,” Jessie says, loudly, placing the back of her hand against her forehead. 

“Tifa just about died,” Yuffie adds. 

“I think we all did,” Aerith titters, moving her hand up to cover her mouth. “I even told Zack about it. I asked him why he wasn’t as romantic.”

Jessie guffaws. “I’m sure he took that as a challenge.”

Aerith’s eyes gleam. “Oh, he did.”

Their chatter continues, but Tifa’s attention is diverted by Master Zangan, who stands in front of the line of martial artists. There are twelve of them in total, and Tifa is slotted to perform third. Zangan gives them his professional and instructional pep talk, as he normally does before any practice. 

“Make yourselves proud, today. While this is a competition, it is also a test for yourselves. Take this challenge. Accept it. Do your best. Rely on yourselves. Make it count.” He pauses. “And have fun.”

This makes the line of competitors chuckle. “Fun,” one of the guys mutters beside Tifa. She only smiles, glancing back at her friends. She watches Cloud continuing to be tortured by something the girls are saying, Aerith poking his shoulder, Jessie moving her hand to squeeze his bicep. Cloud seems to be scooting closer to his mother. When his gaze lands on Tifa, he shakes his head at her. He looks simultaneously angry and in anguish. Tifa can’t contain her chuckle, placing a hand on her heart, and mouthing _soon._ She sees his chest rise and fall in a sigh. 

The competition begins a few minutes later, the first competitor standing and going through the dance of his forms, performing kicks and turns and twists before bowing to one of the instructors at the end. Then they start their spar session, the instructor utilizing movements that they have trained for, different techniques to inspire strategy during the fight. 

They perform them in the middle of the large mat, centered in the room. The rest of the competitors watch and wait their turn.

After each performance is complete, everyone in the room claps or cheers. Tifa is impressed by the showing of the first two, who perform better than they have in comparison to their practices. 

When Tifa is called, she steps forward to take her place, standing before Zangan. They bow to one another, and Zangan asks the question he asks to each of his pupils.

“Tifa Lockhart. Have you found who and what you are fighting for?”

Tifa has been thinking about the answer all day. She glances briefly over to where her family and friends sit again, her eyes catching on her father and then on Cloud. But it isn’t only them.

She feels the tapping on her chest as she smiles and answers, “Yes.”

Zangan nods. “Then show us all your skill, your strength, and your power.”

He steps off the mat, and Tifa takes a deep breath before closing her eyes. She zones into her heartbeat, and she imagines she is by herself, completely alone with her movements and stances. She allows their meaning to fill her—the first described as The Learned Man, steady and sure, weaponless and agile. It flows into the second, The Diamond, full of hardness and might. The third is The Bright Mountain, and it fills her mind with pictures of home, settling across her like the dew across her mother’s grave. The fourth is The Struggle of Peace, and Tifa wonders at how Zangan could have picked these out specifically for her, feeling that tug and pull of the uncertainty of the past months, hugging her arms and legs as she moves them around her, swinging her leg across the expanse of the mat. The fifth is Longevity, and she opens her eyes to find her father, who is smiling widely at her across the room. The sixth is Existence, and she imagines the night sky in Nibelheim—and she thinks about Cloud’s eyes as he stared at her underneath it, on the water tower as the sun began to rise. 

The seventh is The Growth, and Tifa feels the motions blossoming across her chest and stomach, feeding into her limbs like water in a tree, and it flows so easily into the eighth, Oneness. It moves with her like it’s a part of her system, meshing with her mind and aching for connection with her spirit.

The ninth and last is Final Heaven. It persists like the infinite spectrum of the cosmos and the wonderment of creation, its change and completion. It desperately tries to connect the spirits of the living with the unknown, making her body twist and turn and fly, her hands outreaching but her feet always landing on the earth. 

When she falls into the ending posture, she opens her eyes once more, unsure when they had closed again, and she swears she sees her mother against the sunlight that filters through the front window of the dojo. Her heart thuds and her mind is saturated with the sensation of connection—because never has she performed these stances altogether, all at once, flowing and fluid. Never has she had the energy to keep them tied and stitched, either distracted by work or muddled thoughts that clumsily tripped into her brain. Never has she felt so free, and never has she felt so unencumbered by the burden of life. 

She stares straight ahead, breathing heavily, and she watches her mother smile against her eyes. When she blinks, the sight is gone and dispersed, perhaps never existing at all. 

Tifa realizes she’s crying. The tap against her chest is a punch, her sternum feeling bruised and inflamed, but so free. _So free._

She doesn’t hear the clapping or the hollering from the girls until Zangan comes to stand in front of her, bowing. Tifa quickly straightens, swiping a hand across her eyes and mimicking his bow. 

“You have reached and outmatched your own Final Heaven, Tifa,” he announces, and there is a softness in his eyes when he looks at her. “Are you ready to use it?”

Tifa takes in a deep breath, her limbs buzzing with the power of her forms. She nods, and the determination settles inside of her. She feels strength, calm and steady and infinite. She finds her fighting stance, bringing one foot behind her and her fists in front of her face. 

“I’m ready.”

* * *

“You were phenomenal, Tifa,” her father tells her once the competition concludes. 

Tifa stands with the girls, Cloud, her father, and Claudia, the new degree of her black belt striped and tied firmly against her waist. Aerith has slipped and hooked their arms together. Yuffie is hugging her from behind, and Jessie places Tifa’s hand on her heart. 

“You hear that, Teef?” Jessie asks. “That’s my heart, completely taken by you.”

Tifa laughs. “Thank you, guys. That was…fun.”

It’s such a lackluster word for what it really was to her, but she can’t quite seem to find the correct description for it. Instead, she hugs Yuffie, then Aerith, then squeezes Jessie’s hand and hugs her, too. 

“You were very impressive, Tifa,” Claudia tells her once the girls release her from their grip. “I’ve never witnessed any martial arts competitions, but this one was spectacular. Everybody was so impressive, you especially.”

Tifa blushes at the compliments from her. “Oh, thank you. I really appreciate that. Everyone here has been training for a while, and all of them were training for a black belt or a higher degree.”

Cloud stands a bit behind all the others, but Tifa catches his eye. She’s felt his stare on her ever since she finished her testing, standing back against the wall. She had been directly in line with his stare, nearly losing her breath at his gaze. 

It’s no different, now, with how smoldering and bright the blue of his eyes seem to be. Tifa glances away, unable to take it. 

They all chat for a little while longer, the girls planning the rest of their day . Jessie’s play, entitled _Lovely Lady_ , has its opening night that evening, and they’ve all planned to go for weeks. Tifa’s father will be headingback to Nibelheim that afternoon, having stayed in Midgar for most of the week, and Cloud’s mother will stay for lunch before leaving for Sector 1, where she is meeting a client to nanny and tutor their children. 

Bidding the girls farewell with the promises to text them later, Tifa goes to the locker rooms to change into the shorts and shirt she brought in her duffle. When she comes back, Claudia and her father are talking, and Cloud is standing a few inches away, seeming to be half-listening to their conversation. When Tifa gets closer to them, Cloud looks up and smiles at her, his gaze lingering on her change of dress. 

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi,” she says back.

“I didn’t get to tell you this earlier, but…” Cloud says. “You were great. Really great.”

Tifa smiles. “Thank you, Cloud.”

Cloud glances at their parents for a moment, who are still engagedin their chat, before leaning forward. Lips on her ear, he whispers, “You were really fucking sexy, Tifa.”

The blush burns up her neck. 

“Cloud…” she mutters. 

“I’ll spar with you whenever you want,” he says.

Tifa giggles, pushing at his shoulder. Brian looks over at them when she laughs, and his eyes catch on how Cloud’s hand is suddenly at Tifa’s waist. He quickly takes it away, and Tifa grabs it in her own before he can retreat further. 

“What are you guys talking about?” Tifa asks, directing her smile to her dad and Claudia. 

“Your dad was just telling me he’s wanting to move to Midgar. I’m trying to persuade him to come to Edge,” Claudia says. “It’s only thirty minutes away, and it’s slower paced than Midgar.”

“Sounds a lot like Nibelheim,” Brian answers, rubbing his hand over his jaw. “Regardless, I’d be much closer to you, Teef, and that’s all I care about.”

Tifa nods. “Me too.”

Claudia eventually asks if they would all like to grab lunch together before her work and Tifa’s father’s train departure. Tifa has no qualms about it, becoming excited atthe prospect of all of them hanging out, talking and spending time together. She notices Cloud’s hesitation, though, and as they leave the dojo to walk down the sidewalk to Seventh Heaven, they are distanced enough from their parents for her to ask, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “I’ve never done something like this before, that’s all. And I’m not good at stuff like this.”

“What?” Tifa asks, teasing lightly. “Going to lunch with your girlfriend’s father and your mother?”

The word _girlfriend_ slips out of her without her thinking. Her smile falters, but Cloud answers with a smirk, scoffing. 

“Yeah. That. Not really something I do regularly.”

He doesn’t act like he even heard it. Tifa squeezes his hand. 

“Don’t worry. It’ll be nice. The worst thing that can happen is that they tell us embarrassing stories from our childhood.”

Cloud grimaces. “I have too many of those.”

Laughing, Tifa says, “Oh, then I’m looking forward to it.”

* * *

They stay at Seventh Heaven until it’s time for Tifa to walk her dad to the train station. 

Claudia gives Tifa a big bear hug before they leave, smiling at her fondly. 

“I’ve always believed Cloud needed to find a girl who was mature, someone who could keep him out of trouble. I’ve always been worried with him being in the big city. So many temptations and distractions.” Claudia looks over at Cloud. “I’m so proud of him, though. He’s become a very responsible, successful young man.”

Tifa follows her gaze, and Cloud rubs the back of his neck.

“Mom…” he trails. 

“Anyway, thank you for taking care of him these last few months, Tifa. I know it hasn’t been easy on either of you.”

Tifa blinks, gripping her fingers and twisting them over each other. “Oh, of course. It’s been…really nice having him around.”

“We’ll do this more often,” Brian says, smiling. “You can bet on it.”

Cloud and Brian shake hands, and Cloud tells Tifa, “I’ll call you later?”

Tifa nods, beaming at him. “Yes, sounds good.”

As Tifa and her father arrive atthe station, he takes her hands in his own. 

“Have fun with your friends, tonight,” he says. “Be careful. Watch your surroundings. I’ll let you know when I arrive at Nibelheim.”

“I will, Dad,” she says. “And please do. If you don’t, I’ll call.”

He laughs. “Sure, sure.”

Before he heads into the station, he turns back. “And Tifa, listen…” he says. “Cloud and his mother…they’re good people. And he’s…well, I know you love him, but he’s a good lad.”

Tifa feels something sprinkle over her, like that deep warmth from a hug or a kiss. She smiles. 

“Yeah. I do love him. He’s great.”

Her dad lingers. “I believe he’ll take care of you.”

“I don’t need to be taken care of, Dad,” Tifa says, shaking her head. 

“No…” her dad hedges. “But it’s nice when you find someone who can.”

Tifa grins and sidles up to kiss his cheek and hug him.

“Yeah,” she says. “It is. I love you.”

“I love you, Tifa.”

* * *

Cloud picks Tifa up around 7:00 pm to drive to the theater. She decides to wear a newer dress, having shopped with Yuffie and Aerith the week prior. It is made of shimmery, lavender fabric with a speckled, leopard print. _Exotic,_ the sales associate had gushed, describing the designer and how popular it had been once it hit the shelves. The dress is more conservative than the dress she had worn at the merger, covering her back and spanning the length of her legs, but it teases with a hint of skin, slits in the sides coming up to nearly her hip bone, and the skirt sashays around her legs when she walks. She decides to wear a pair of her black, sheer thigh-highs to keep it tactful.

Cloud wears a black dress shirt and a purple waistcoat, the accent colors matching her own. He had texted her earlier that day, Tifa teasing about how they should color coordinate. She hadn’t known he would take it seriously, but upon opening the door to her apartment, her eyes light up and that desperate warmth takes over her chest again. 

She immediately steps forward and kisses him—just like she had wanted to after the Tae Kwon Do competition. He responds with easy eagerness, pulling her into him, the lipstick she decided to wear smearing off her lips and into his mouth. 

They make out for a while before Tifa’s phone buzzes with a text from her girl group. Tifa huffs a laugh.

“We should go,” she says into his lips.

“Should we?” Cloud asks, continuing to kiss her. “We can rain check.”

“No, it’s opening night! We’re going,” Tifa says, pushing him away as best she can. “But I’ll definitely take a raincheck with you.”

Cloud hums a pacified assent, squeezing her ass. 

“Fine.”

By the time they make it to the theater, it’s twenty minutes before curtain call. They find Yuffie, Vincent, Aerith, and Zack in the lobby, the entrance wide and sprawling. The chandeliers overhead are so luxurious, they’re almost gaudy, the twirl of the metal antiquated and almost brassy. The tiled floors are glossy and sparkling. 

When Zack sees Tifa, he elbows Aerith and goes to stand.

“Tifa!” he calls jubilantly, his grin stretching wide across his face. “Long time, no see!”

Tifa beams, and she feels like she’s been beaming all day. “Zack!” She rushes forward to hug him. “It’s so good to see you. How’ve you been?”

“Well, I’ve been pretty upset since I had to miss your competition testing this morning,” he says, sighing dramatically. “Angeal is a real pain in the ass, sometimes.”

Tifa laughs. “Oh, no, it’s okay. I know how busy work can be.”

“I heard I missed a helluva showing. I’m not surprised, but I’m disappointed I didn’t call in sick.”

“I told him I recorded it,” Aerith says, rolling her eyes. “He refused to watch until you got here.”

“I’m a gentleman,” Zack says, turning to wink at her. Then he glances behind Tifa, his eyes catching on Cloud.

“Hey, man,” he greets, his tone as affable as ever. 

“Oh, Cloud, this is Zack. Zack, Cloud,” Tifa says.

“Great to meet you,” Zack says. 

Cloud nods, seemingly unbalanced by Zack’s genuine reception of him.

“Uh, great to meet you, too,” Cloud says.

Zack laughs. “I was wondering if I’d ever meet the guy who sent Tifa that new contract.”

Cloud blanches. “What?”

“Oh, I never told you,” Tifa says, surprised that she never remembered to tell him. “When you first emailed me that contract—“ 

“These girls wanted to make sure you weren’t screwing around with Teef, so they had me read over it. I work at Hewley and Fair Law Offices. I’m the Fair,” Zack clarifies.

Cloud’s mouth parts open. “I…never knew that.”

Tifa cringes. “I’m sorry, Cloud. 

He shakes his head, amusement warring with his shock. “No, that’s okay. I’m…glad you did that. It was smart.”

“Your contract was pretty slick, too, dude,” Zack grins. “If I could have done something like that to get Aerith in my office, I would have.”

Cloud flushes. Tifa pushes a lock of hair behind her ear. 

“As if I would have taken the bait,” Aerith says, laughing. Zack places his hand over his heart.

“Oh, you love hurting me, don’t you?”

“Hey, what am I missing over here?” Yuffie says, bounding up to them. “I was distracted because I was talking with Vincent. _Talking,_ I know. Who would have thought?” she laughs. “Anyway, he didn’t want to get up from his seat. He doesn’t really care about socializing. Or people.”

“Sounds like a loser,” Zack says, grinning over at Vincent. Vincent hears him, merely giving him a blank stare. Zack sighs, leaning over to Cloud. “I’ve been trying to get him to warm up ever since I got here. He’s a tough one to crack.”

“He won’t,” Cloud deadpans. 

Zack seems incredibly off-put by Cloud’s reaction, cringing. “Really? Why?”

Cloud shakes his head. “He’s been like that as long as I’ve known him.”

“Huh. Well. Never too late to try.” He leans even closer. “I mean, he’s dating _Yuffie._ I say there’s hope for him.”

“Hey!” Yuffie says. “Don’t be a jackass, Fair! You know I’m amazing.”

Cloud’s eyebrow quirks, and he tries to lean away from Zack’s sudden encroachment in his space. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“Listen, man,” Zack continues, placing an arm around his shoulders. Cloud nearly recoils, but the weight of Zack’s arm keeps him in place. “Girls are powerful. We’ve been chosen. You can’t tell me that doesn’t change a guy.” He shakes Cloud, and Tifa can see Cloud attempting not to grimace. She bites her lip to keep from smiling. 

“I know _I’ve_ changed,” Zack continues, grinning. “For the better, of course.”

“Right,” Cloud says. He seems to succumb to his fate, his side right up against Zack’s chest. 

Zack prattles on, and Aerith whispers to the girls, “I think Zack’s found a friend.”

Tifa chuckles. “Yeah, I think so. A very disgruntled friend.”

Cackling, Yuffie says, “He looks _so_ uncomfortable right now.”

“Hey, how did teasing him go at the dojo?” Tifa asks. “I wish I could have been there.”

“Wonderful,” Aerith says, grinning deviously. “Cloud was as red as a cherry the entire time. His mom even contributed!”

“He was not a scary ex-CEO at all,” Yuffie says. “He hated all of us poking him.”

Tifa shakes her head. “Oh, you guys.”

“But when you performed, he was _completely_ entranced,” Aerith whispers, glancing over Tifa’s shoulder at Zack and Cloud. “Did he tell you?”

Tifa thinks back to how Cloud stared at her. She bites her lip. “Yeah. Sorta.”

“ _Sorta?”_ Yuffie asks before she blows a raspberry. 

“I mean, he did,” Tifa says quietly, trying not to blush. “He doesn’t have to say much. Kind of like Vincent, I think, Yuffie.”

Yuffie smirks, waggling her eyebrows. “Oh, yeah, I hear you, Teef.”

They make their way into the theater a few minutes before curtain call. The seats are filling up quickly, the red plush cushionsglowing underneath the gleaming lights overhead. Cloud finally disentangling himself from Zack and taking a seat on the opposite side of Tifa. Tifa sits between Cloud and Zack, with Aerith on his other side, Yuffie and Vincent sitting on the other side of Aerith.

Tifa turns to him as the music begins to swell, the curtains still pulled down. 

“Make a friend?” she whispers.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Cloud answers, just as quietly. “But he seems…cool.”

Tifa smiles. “He is. You’ll like him.”

She finds his hand on the armrest, and their fingers lace together. 

“I have a feeling he’ll try to make me like him,” Cloud mutters. 

Tifa’s shoulders shake in silent laughter. 

“You’re probably right.”

As the curtains draw up and the introduction music resounds through the hall, the opening scene hooking them in with Jessie—who plays Julia—bargaining with an uppity, rich man through the window of his mustang. It doesn’t end well, with Jessie screaming after him as he drives away. 

“Asshole!” she yells, her thigh-high, black leather boots nearly touching her indecently short skirt. A girlfriend comes up to console her, telling her she only needs to land one to make the payment for her apartment. Jessie is apathetic and aloof in her responses, not seeming to care either way. 

“As long as I’m a whore, it’ll always be the same.” Jessie flicks away a cigarette before standing, done wallowing, and readjusts her bra, puffing up her breasts. “What can girls like us expect?”

Jessie—or Julia—eventually saunters up to a gleaming convertible. The man behind the wheel, Biggs—or Richard—is flustered and new to the district, obviously never having done something like this before. Jessie uses her charm to slither into his passenger seat, teaches him how to drive a manual stick shift— _it’s new,_ Biggs says, trying to hide his shame—and offers him a special deal for being new in town. When Biggs offers her dinner, Jessie laughs. _I appreciate this seduction routine you’ve got going on, honey, but let me tell you something. I’m a sure thing._

Jessie continues on being a flirtatious lady of the night, and Biggs continues to be somewhat flustered, endearing yet straightforward gentleman, showing his business intellect and cunning during the later scenes. 

“Hm,” Tifa mumbles. “Reminds me of you when I first met you.”

Cloud looks at her. “He does?”

“A businessman. Sweet yet hiding away, cold and unsure.” Tifa leans against him, as close as the armrest will allow. “You think they’ll end up together?”

“If we’re anything to go by…” he says. “I think they will.”

Tifa smiles.

Eventually the scenes change, from Jessie and Biggs learning the nuances of their strikingly different worlds. He shows her refinery and indulgence. She shows him how business and pleasure aren’t as contrasting as he first believes. 

He shows her she can be a lady—she can be strong, independent, and do whatever she wants. She makes him believe that the success of life may not only coincide with the quantity of possessions. 

And in the end, when love seems impossible—when it shouldn’t work, when it is the most improbable thing that should occur—it blooms, bright and bold and lovely. 

The ending lines between them are the ones on the brochure. 

_So what happens after he climbs up and rescues her?_ Biggs asks.

Jessie smiles before kissing him. 

_She rescues him right back._

Cloud shifts underneath Tifa’s head, and she glances up at him. 

“That’s…a good line,” Cloud says at her questioning look. He seems to be blushing. 

“It is,” Tifa agrees. 

When the curtains close on the scene, they stand up and clap, hollering and yelling. Tifa brings up her fingers to her lips and lets out a loud whistle. As the curtains open back up with all the cast arm in arm, their ruckus grows even louder. 

“That’s my best friend!” Yuffie screams. Aerith and Tifa follow her lead, Aerith professing her love and Tifa proposing her hand in marriage. Jessie, on the stage, begins laughing. 

Biggs is standing beside her, grinning at her reactions. He flees off-stage for a moment, coming back with a giant bouquet. Aerith squeals. 

“That’s my arrangement,” she breathes, clapping faster. “Oh, it’s _perfect.”_

As Biggs hands it to Jessie, Tifa’s shocked to see Jessie’s eyes are glittering with tears. Biggs tells her something, and Jessie shakes her head, gripping the flowers in one hand, and gripping Biggs’ neck with the other. She kisses him in front of the whole audience, and it elicits scattered screams throughout  the  crowd. 

“That’s right!” Yuffie shouts. “Ship it! It’s real!”

Tifa laughs, turning to Cloud. “She did so amazing.”

“Yeah, she did great.”

“I think this calls for a celebration. First Tifa, now Jessie?” Zack says, pounding a fist in his hand. “I say, Sector Six here we come.”

* * *

Chocobo Sam’s is the chosen bar. 

They arrive close to midnight. Jessie is flying high on her victorious opening showing, dragging Biggs along beside her. Yuffie keeps Vincent on his toes, pulling and tugging, Aerith is giggly against Zack, and Tifa and Cloud are more subdued as they follow all of them, holding hands and sharing glances. 

Jessie ends up getting to the bar first, ordering rounds for their group. Biggs tries to explain to her that’s not how it works, and someone else should buy her a drink for a job well done. She winks and tells him he can buy her one later. 

Once they all get their drinks, they toast to each other in a circle—to Jessie and Biggs and Tifa and happenstance that brought them all together. They break apart but stay close, each falling into individual conversations or grouping up. Cloud stays beside Tifa for a while before he takes his drink by the bar, leaning against it while he watches the others talk and laugh. Vincent is the same. Zack meanders between the girls and Biggs, then tries to lasso Vincent into the chat. Vincent hardly gives him any leeway, so Zack goes to grab Cloud’s shoulders instead, telling him he’s the coolest one out of all of them, anyway. 

When Tifa begins to feel the heat of the alcohol rush to her cheeks, the smile loose on her lips, she comes to stand in front of Cloud once he’s meandered back to the bar, mimicking his stance by leaning against it. 

“Hey. What are you doing all the way over here?” she asks. 

“Admiring the view.”

She narrows her eyes at him playfully, tilting her head. “Nice try, Strife. I know you don’t like being social.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he says, his eyes roving over her. “But I like watching you have fun. Besides, Zack keeps dragging me back every chance he can get.” 

She pouts. “It would be more fun if you were closer.”

Cloud leans forward, brushing a few wayward bangs across her forehead. “It would be more fun for the girls. I’ve heard you all comparing _dick_ sizes, tonight.”

Tifa begins laughing. “We can’t help it. We have to talk about it.”

“I’m sure it’s a very important topic of discussion.”

Tifa shakes her head, pointing at him. “It doesn’t sound like you’ve been drinking enough.”

Cloud smiles. “I’m driving, remember?”

“You have time to sober up,” Tifa says. She glances at the clock above the door. “We won’t leave until past closing.”

He makes a low noise, shaking his head. “Tifa Lockhart, being a bad influence? This is almost as shocking as when you said…” he leans forward to say in her ear, “ _Cock.”_

Tifa’s head tilts away from him, and the smile on her face stretches. She breathes a laugh. “ _Cloud._ Don’t distract me.” She reaches forward and taps the bottom of his glass. “Drink up.”

He indulges her by taking a small sip. She nods. “Better. How is it?”

He makes a noncommittal noise. “It’s alright. Not as sweet as you,” he says, and she blushes at the bluntness of his words. “What would be better,” Cloud continues, leaning toward her ear again. “Is if you let me press my hand up your dress.”

“Mm, no,” Tifa answers back, pushing her forehead against his temple. “What would be better is if you touched my...clit.”

“Tifa…” he grumbles. “Touch you. Lick you. Bite you. What if I turned you around and bent you over?”

One of her hands runs up the nape of his neck. 

“My ass would be pressed right against your…cock.”

Cloud groans. “Then I would feel you with my hands, see how wet you are. I’d open you up…”

“Yes?” she asks, shifting closer. “Open me up? Get me ready for you to…to…”

“Fuck you. Shove my cock so deep inside you—“

“Oh, yes.”

“Make you pant. Make you cry out.”

“Oh, Cloud. You’d…um, fuck my…pussy so good, wouldn’t you?”

They are close, now, pressing their bodies up against one another. Tifa can feel his arousal against her thigh, and she’s so hot from the alcohol and his grumbly words that she thinks all she’d need is one little press from his finger and she’d be thrown over the edge. 

She can’t believe they’re doing this so openly, but the buzz in her system dulls the audacity. She had prepared for this, when he was teasing in his old office space, but not so blatantly nor with so much… _enthusiasm_ **.**

“I would,” he promises. “I’d fuck you, but I’d also make love to you, all night. Whatever you want. Whatever you like.”

Those words are unexpected. Tifa places her glass on the bar, and she reaches up to squeeze his shoulders under her hands. She feels like her fingers are iron. 

“ _Cloud._ ”

He kisses her neck. “Are you close?”

Tifa blinks. “I’m…um…”

Cloud adjusts his thigh between her legs and he rocks her forward. She gasps, cradling both hands around his neck. To anyone else, it looks like they’re hugging. It seems like they’ve confessed something important to one another. 

He presses his thigh up again, and Tifa feels the push of the wave. “Oh, Gaia,” she stutters. “I can’t believe I’m actually…”

“I can,” Cloud mutters against her skin. He kisses her jaw. “Shit, you’re so wet for me, aren’t you?”

“So wet,” Tifa shudders. “Can you make me come? Right here?”

“You want it?” he asks, and he presses his thigh up once more. Tifa has to bite her lip from her yelp.

“Yes. Just a little more.”

He grabsher ass and pushes up. The release hits her with the pressure, and Tifa feels it like a hit of ecstasy right in the middle of her forehead. She loses her breath before she smiles, beginning to laugh. It is senseless and abrupt as it falls out of her. 

“Gaia, Cloud, did that really…just happen?”

She hears his chuckle like a grumble against her throat. “We’re insane.”

The fact of the statement washes over her, because they _are_ insane. “I’m sorry you didn’t—“

“I did.”

She laughs some more. “You _did?”_

“I don’t think you realize how much you turn me on, Teef.”

She leans back from him. Her eyes even feel glassy, but his face seems to be in a picture with a filter. It’s too smooth, glowing too brightly, too perfect and serene. 

“And I don’t think you realize how much I—“ she pauses, the heat and the euphoria clogging her windpipe. “I, um—“

“Tifa! Cloud! Get your asses over here!” Jessie calls, words slurred in a manic jumble. “We’re riding chocobos!”

Cloud sighs. “I’d rather go to the bathroom.”

Tifa giggles. “Oh, Cloud, I’m sorry.”

Yuffie cackles delightedly, running forward and grabbing Tifa’s hand, breaking them apart. Zack headlocks Cloud and pulls him along before Cloud can make his much needed escape. Aerith is holding two glasses, each with a different colored liquid. 

Biggs has a flush that grips his cheekbones, and he’s continuously smiling throughout everything that happens. As he attempts to saddle up on the mechanical chocobo, he slips off the side, though he has a perpetual grin on his face the whole time. He then wobbles as he stands, weaving up to Jessie and kissing her, and kissing her, and kissing her…

“Get a room!” Zack shouts between cupped hands. Aerith laughs and hands her drinks to Zack, running over to the chocobo and slipping onto it. She falls off in a matter of seconds, screeching. Tifa goes over to help her, but Aerith only pulls her down instead. They land on top of one another in a mass of limbs and giggles. 

“Aerith!” Tifa screams. 

“Tifa!” Aerith screams back. “It’s your turn! Get on it!”

Tifa stands and pulls Aerith up with a giant heave. Cloud is standing beside Zack, who is cheering to Aerith’s fall, finishing one of the two drinks she made him hold. 

Tifa catches Cloud’s eye, and a conversation from weeks before appears in her mind. 

“Cloud!” she calls. “You’re after me!”

Cloud raises an eyebrow, and she already anticipates his rejection, so she says, “You have to beat my time, remember! Don’t say no!”

She hops onto the saddle of the chocobo, feeling her dress shift across her calves. She grabs onto the pommel once it begins to rock back and forth, squeezing the body’s sides with her legs. Becoming comfortable with the pace, Tifa glances up to find Cloud. He’s already watching her, and she grins. 

“I might be a little drunk!” she says. “But I’m going to win!”

The chocobo’s speed steadily increases, and Tifa has to will her mind to concentrate harder than it should. Her hand begins to slip on the pommel, and she goes to readjust. She tightens her thighs. Her body starts to list, and she claws at the machine, trying to find any handhold to grasp only to find nothing but yellow painted metal, slick against her sweaty palms. 

She lets out a yelp as she tumbles off the side, and she tries to prepare hitting the padded ground against her back. 

She’s pleasantly surprised to find she lands in two strong arms, instead. 

“Oh,” she says, blinking up into Cloud’s face. “You saved me.”

“Not really,” he says. “You fell very slowly.”

“Still. Hey, how long did I last?”

“Eight entire seconds,” Cloud says, beginning to smile.

Tifa frowns. “Eight? That’s all?”

“Longer than everyone else.”

“I thought I did so much better!” she sighs. “Well, it’s your turn, now.”

Cloud merely shakes his head, shifting her in his arms. “Why don’t we go home, instead?”

Tifa harrumphs, pouting. “No, you have to try at least once!”

“What if I forfeit? You win.”

“Cloud, no!” she says. “Once. Please?”

He stares at her for a few seconds. She tries to widen her eyes, pushing her bottom lip out until it’s uncomfortable and feels too fat. 

She sees his resolve crumble. His chest heaves in a slow, ponderous sigh. 

“Fine.”

Tifa grins immediately, wrapping her hands around his neck and bringing him into a soft, happy kiss. 

“Then we can go home,” she answers. 

Cloud nods, gently lowering her to the ground. She wobbles for a few seconds before her equilibrium comes back, and she gives him an encouraging nudge toward the chocobo. 

Cloud’s face morphs into a frown, but he hops onto the animal without trouble. He glances down at her before it starts moving. 

“What’ll you do if I beat you?” he asks. 

Tifa blinks, her mouth parting. “Um…probably be disappointed.”

It slowly begins to undulate. “That’s all?”

She places her hands on her hips, watching as he slides around the saddle. 

“Maybe…I’ll reward you.”

One of his eyebrows quirks up. “Reward me?”

The chocobo begins to quicken. Tifa shrugs a shoulder. “It’ll be a surprise.”

Tifa has a feeling he’s already won with how he’s smirking, but he remains on it until it starts to spin in jerky circles. When he seems satisfied with his time, Cloud simply slides off, landing in a kneel. His hair is mildly fluffed and his cheeks a little pink. 

“Sorry, Teef,” he says. “When you said reward, I couldn’t lose.”

The way he’s looking up at her from his crouched position makes her heart thrum in her chest. 

“Hm. Well, you looked like you were having fun,” she says, crossing her arms and glancing at the counter clock. “I can’t believe you went for _twenty_ seconds! _”_

Cloud shrugs, but he looks sheepish. “Got carried away.”

“Uh huh.”

“I guess I did have a little fun.”

Grinning, Tifa pulls him into a hug.

“Alright, Strife. You win today, but I’ll get you back,” she promises. “Let’s go home?”

“Yeah,” he responds, kissing her cheek. “Let’s go home. But let me go to the bathroom first."

Tifa laughs.

* * *

The ride back to her apartment is quiet and lulling. Tifa dozes off a couple times, warm and content . Cloud gently shakes her shoulder when they arrive. 

“Hey, Tifa. We’re here.”

She sighs a little, rubbing at her eyes. “Mm, okay.” She stretches with her arms above her head, tapping the ceiling of the car, and turns her head to look at Cloud. He smiles. 

“Today was nice,” he says. 

Tifa frowns, sitting up. “Aren’t you staying with me?”

“Yeah, I just…” Cloud trails, glancing away from her. “I had a…really good time.”

Tifa relaxes against the seat. “Even though I forced you to ride the chocobo?”

“Especially because you forced me,” he says. She laughs at the answer, reaching up to touch his cheek. 

“C’mon then, cowboy,” she says. “Let’s go to bed.”

Half-way to her apartment, Cloud stops Tifa to bend over and carry her. She protests before she succumbs, allowing him to traipse up the stairs and pushing her nose into his neck before needing to unlock her door. 

She kicks her heels off in her entryway. Cloud follows her lead and slips off his shoes before she grabs his hand and lures him to the bedroom. 

He’s spent enough time here to leave some of his clothes—t-shirts, sweatpants, a dress shirt or two—and Tifa has a designated spot in her closet for them. 

“Do you want pajamas?” she asks. “Or do you want to…?”

He lets his hands fall to her hips. “I don’t want pajamas.”

Tifa swallows under his stare, suddenly awake. Her heart begins to beat like a heavy drum. 

“Okay,” she whispers. She turns, showing him the expanse of her back. “Unzip me?”

The zipper is small and short, ending at the small of her back, only the length of an inch. She hears the pull of it and feels it give. Cloud then unclips the notch holding up the halter and the dress slides off. Tifa steps out of it, turning back to face him. She begins to unbutton his waistcoat and black dress shirt without any prompting, and Cloud watches her all the while. The alcohol is burning away, but there’s enough in her system to keep her nerves sedated and her hands steady. She doesn’t fumble as she might when sober, and she begins smiling, thinking about that first day in her office when Cloud’s hand was fumbling and shaking behind her back. 

“What?” he asks. 

She looks up at him, pushing off his dress shirt the rest of the way once it’s unbuttoned fully. “Thinking about you in my office, that’s all. When you told me you wanted me. When this…started.”

She unbuckles his belt, then she unbuttons and unzips his slacks. They slip down to the floor, and Cloud steps out of them. In their underwear, they stare at each other. The moonlight slashes against Cloud’s chest through her bedroom window, coloring him with shadows. Tifa presses a hand against the white light from the moon, feeling the tender give of his skin. His heart is so close, Tifa thinks she can touch it through his sternum. 

He reaches up and takes her hand in his own. He brings it up to his lips, and he kisses her fingertips. Tifa watches his mouth move over her fingers, and she shudders at the contact. 

He runs his thumb over her knuckles, and he breaks eye contact, staring down at her hand.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks her, and Tifa inhales deeply. His voice is soft, but it sounds like he’s hesitating inside its low timbre. 

“Of course,” Tifa says, curling her fingers around his. “What’s wrong?”

He looks up at her at that. “Nothing. I’ve just…been thinking.”

She smiles. “Yeah?”

“Too much, probably,” he admits, shaking his head. “I guess it’s just…after seeing your relationship with your dad, in that hospital…I’ve been thinking about mine a lot more. You know how I’ve felt about it. I’ve followed my father’s footsteps, and I was ugly in the way I strived for my dreams, and…” he pauses, holding her hand in both of his. He spreads her fingers apart, running his own over her knuckles. “I’ve wondered if it would have been any different. If he had loved me or if he wasn’t in my life at all. Was I bred by circumstance? Would I have always been the same?”

Tifa reaches up to his face with her other hand, running her thumb underneath his eye. The alcohol is fading completely, her mind beginning to clear at his words. “Cloud…”

“I’ve been wondering what makes me _me_. Spending time with my mother these past few weeks has helped, but spending time with you…” he sighs. “I’ve been trying to be better. To do better. To be… _something,”_ he says. He drops her hand and places his palms on her hips, dragging her closer to him. 

“When you first walked into my office after that email,” Cloud says. “You held your own. You didn’t put up with my bullshit. You were fearless.” 

Tifa watches the ripples of his face in the darkened cover of the room. His eyes are shifting, and she can see how he struggles with his words. His throat bobs in a swallow, and he huffs out a breath. 

“You…” he says. “You embodied what I have always wanted to be. Even today, during your competition, you performed something that I’ve never seen before. You told your own story without words, with movements alone. You’ve done that time and again. 

“That day in my office, you swiped your lipstick on me, and it felt like a killing blow—something I was never able to do to my father.”

His eyes have stopped shifting and his words are no longer a struggle for him. His stare is the honed edge of a blade, sure and true, and he impales her with the force of it. She loses her breath, her hands on his chest trying to find purchase.

He almost smiles, but his lips can’t quite make it. 

He says, “I think I fell in love with you right then.”

Everything feels stuck, suddenly, as if the world has stopped in its revolution. Time is a pure figment of imagination, and Tifa’s nails dig further into his skin. 

“Cloud,” she breathes, her eyes beginning to fog over. She reaches up to his face and pulls him forward to kiss him. She kisses him over and over, doing her best to ravage him—to express what it means for him to say it out loud, from his heart and into hers. 

“I love you,” she gasps. “I love you. I don’t know when it happened, but I love you.”

She feels him smile against her lips. He presses her body further into him as they kiss one another, her tears falling down her face and melding into his mouth. He kneads her skin from her back to her hips to her bottom to her thighs, and they fall back against the bed, urgent but soft and delicate. They handle each other as if they are unfathomably rare—as if every movement they make is terribly expensive and indulgent, one in a million. Their bodies are new to one another, suddenly, as if the love that had been growing is now unsheltered and free to bloom without fear, cradled by the palm of their hearts. It is showcased, now, the spotlight blazing and bright, acknowledged for the world to see and damage and take and weather and grow. Always growing—always alive—digging its roots deeper and deeper into the belly of their spirits. 

They shed their underwear, one article at a time. Cloud worships her body—from her neck to her chest, her abdomen to her thighs and lingering in between them. His tongue touches her, flooding her senses with bliss. She delves her fingers into his hair, caressing and tugging, and when she’s so close to her climax, she stops him—because it’s so different now, so different and not different at all. It’s the same as it’s always been, but Tifa can wholeheartedly and freely believe in the love that flows between them. That’s what makes it superior to any other time. Everything is heightened and fully effervescent, and she wants to come when he’s closer to her than no one else will ever be. 

She pulls him up and turns him over on his back, and she mimics his reverence of her, praising the lines of his body with her mouth and her tongue and her laughter that spills out of her because the sensation of it all overtakes her. 

She makes love to his arousal with her mouth, and it’s never been so powerful. His moans and guttural gasps twine around her spine like netting, and he says her name—“Tifa”—so devotedly, she runs her tongue around him faster, pushes him into her throat deeper until he pleads with her, aches for her, and she halts herself before he can release because she wants him so desperately and so badly and it can’t end, not yet. _Not yet._

She crawls on top of him, and he pulls her down immediately, kissing her with messy ardor. Their mouths are wet and full of their need and want, and when he presses into her, full of their love. 

“Cloud,” she moans. “Please.”

They rock and slide together, tender but passionate, thrusts incapable of delicacy but each connection made with precision, measured with care. They pursue the climbing euphoria and the building peak, up and up and up. 

Tifa breaks first, their foreheads pressed together and their hands intertwined above his head. Cloud takes a few more rhythmic thrusts before he follows behind her, and Tifa is uncertain how long it takes to recover. All she can think about is how radiant everything seems to be, glowing and thriving and alive. 

Cloud lies beside her, continuing to catch his breath. Tifa faces him, and they stare at each other. 

Tifa begins to smile. “Your reward was supposed to be lingerie, but you distracted me by telling me you loved me.”

He smiles back, a laugh escaping him. “I couldn’t help it.” He kisses her. “Reward me tomorrow.”

“Won’t be a problem.”

They’re quiet for a while, basking in each other’s glow. Tifa’s on the verge of sleep before Cloud says, “You know, Zack told me he was proposing to Aerith tonight.”

Tifa’s eyes snap open. “What?”

“Yeah,” he smirks. “I wasn’t going to tell you but…he inspired me, tonight. So I guess you should thank Zack for making me gain some courage.”

Tifa grins before starting to laugh. “No, I shouldn’t. He’ll never let us hear the end of it.” She shakes her head. “That’s amazing, though. I’m so excited for her. We all knew it was going to happen eventually, but we weren’t sure when.”

She snuggles closer. He wraps his arms around her waist. 

“Sorry for ruining the surprise, I just…I had to thank him, that’s all.”

“Your new best friend,” she giggles. 

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“You two were attached at the hip all night.”

“I think he was attached to mine,” Cloud mutters.

“He even confessed his proposal to you. True friendship in the works.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I might get jealous.”

“I’ll remind you there’s no reason for it,” he says, squeezing her bottom. She chuckles into his neck.

“Hey, Cloud?” she says.

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

He presses her closer. 

“I love you, too,” he says.

In the morning, Tifa wakes up to two hundred text messages. 

And she wakes up with Cloud curled up beside her. 

As she scrolls through her phone to read through the messages, she doesn’t think any daydream she had when she was younger could have ever matched up to the real thing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick few things:
> 
> The Tae Kwon Do belt stages I took inspiration from are located [here](https://blackbeltwiki.com/wtf-taekwondo-forms). 
> 
> The _Lovely Lady_ play is a shameless copy of _Pretty Woman_ starring Julia Roberts and Richard Gere. 
> 
> "It's not the girl in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the girl."  
> -Rachael Newsham, BodyCOMBAT instructor and one of my idols
> 
> Lastly, I feel a bit strange doing this, but I have a twitter! You can find me/follow me [here](https://twitter.com/spaceOdementia).  
> I have set up a ko-fi account, and I have it linked there. I'm not asking for any support whatsoever, but I wanted to let whoever is interested in that kind of thing to know that it exists! Support is nice, but I will continue to write regardless. Comments/kudos/thoughts/love are just as wonderful. ❤️
> 
> Thank you again, everyone! What a fun ride this turned out to be. I had a blast. I hope to see some of you in my next story!


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